This Mess We're In
by finnishvixen
Summary: Sequel to "Looking for Nothing". They began without knowing it. Sam finds herself in the midst of falling for her best friend. Bailey comes to realise that his heart is a lost cause; out of fear, Sam decides to fight her feelings tooth and nail. An angry and hurt Jack lurks in the shadows. Second part in a multi-chapter trilogy.
1. Before the Sunrise

(I own nothing. Thanks to demonchilde!)**  
**

**BEFORE THE SUNRISE **

Sam was breathing heavily, and looking at Bailey with a wild look in her eyes. Her mind was racing. She forced one rational thought to the surface.

They had to put a stop to this, whatever this was.

She backed away from him with a step and searched his face. She witnessed bewilderment, surprise. Desire, which she swiftly glossed over, not because it disgusted her, but because she felt it, too.

_Oh God, this had to be stopped._

She took a further step away from him, mumbled an apology without looking at him and started to walk to the entrance. Then she stopped in her tracks, feeling like she owed him an explanation of some sort, a better apology. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he was watching her go. "Sorry," she breathed out before striding away.

Bailey watched her walk away, frozen in his spot. He'd ascended from sincere confusion to an incredible high, he had to be honest, the likes of which he'd never felt before. Only to crash down to daze and irrational disappointment.

Damn, he'd just kissed his best friend. He wasn't even fully aware how it all had unfolded. What had set it off, what had ended it. Well, Sam had instigated both, but he had no idea why.

He did know one thing.

Sam had looked anguished when she uttered her second apology. His heart ached for her.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, to have enough presence of mind to make it into his hotel room for the night. He followed in Sam's footsteps, trudging his way inside the hotel.

* * *

Sam entered her hotel room quietly, in case Grace was already sleeping in the dark room. She took a few steps softly, peering at Grace's bed and listening intently. She heard faint snoring in the room. Grace was already asleep.

Sam weighed her options, and her decision made, slunk into the bathroom and closed the door gently. She rummaged her bag for the cell phone and punched the number she knew by heart. The line rang six times before the call was picked up.

"Hello?" Angel's voice sounded groggy.

"Hey Angel, it's me," Sam whispered into the phone.

"Sam? Everything okay?"

She shook her head, even though Angel couldn't see the gesture. "I'm sorry to be calling you at this hour. Nothing's wrong, we're all fine here. Were you asleep?"

"I was, but never mind that. What's up?"

"Well..." Sam hesitated, suddenly debating in her mind the merits of telling everything to Angel. She knew that Angel would be a good sounding board, but then again, her confession might only egg on Angel's insinuations.

"C'mon, spill. I'm awake, after all," Angel prodded, rubbing her eyes a little.

Sam looked upward, trying to calm her mind. "Okay. Bailey and me... Well, he... No, it was actually me the first time," she amended her words in an astonished voice.

Angel interrupted Sam's ramblings. "You the first time what?"

"I kissed him, and then he kissed me," she muttered, trying to ignore the thrill that the memory evoked.

"Okay. And?" Angel sounded nonplussed, her tone of voice indicating that this wasn't a major surprise to her.

"What do you mean, 'and'?" Sam blurted out.

"Why are you calling me?" Angel asked.

"Because I just kissed Bailey and I wanted to talk it out with my best friend since childhood," she replied, rolling her eyes.

Angel stifled a yawn. "Okay. So I'm guessing nothing else happened, or you're withholding the juicy stuff for a phone call an hour later."

"Juicy stuff? I gotta tell you, you're not responding the way I had envisioned," Sam blew out her breath.

Angel shrugged her shoulders even though Sam was hundreds of miles away. "Well, that's because I'm not that surprised. Not with the way you two have been carrying on for the past months."

"Oh, here we go again," Sam bit back.

Angel sighed audibly. "I'm sorry, Sam, but you called me. Before you hang up, consider this. Bailey is the male lead in everyone of your stories, you're constantly with him, you get a dreamy look on your face whenever you think of him... You do the math."

"That doesn't mean I get to go around kissing him!" Sam hissed into the cell phone.

"Why the hell not, especially since he kissed you back?" Angel shot back.

"Because. Because..." Sam's brains couldn't form any sentences to list the objections, a fact she chalked up to her agitated state of mind.

"Okay, look at it this way: it was just a kiss. Quite frankly, this isn't the end of the world as we know it. You two can talk it over in the morning. Try to get some sleep, so you'll be more calm and centered tomorrow."

Sam mulled over Angel's words. "Alright. I guess you're right."

"You betcha I am. Just calm down," Angel suggested.

Sam took a deep, calming breath, held it in for a long time, willing her mind to stop racing. "I will. Thanks, Angel. I'm going to sleep right now."

"Okay, good. Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Just how good a kisser was he, since you're so hot and bothered?" Angel chuckled when the only response she got was the click of a call being hung up.


	2. I Will Burn for You

(Thanks to demonchilde.)**  
**

**I WILL BURN FOR YOU**

He felt like he was burning up from within. He felt like lashing out, like unleashing his rage indiscriminately.

He felt like his eyes were seared into his skull. He wanted to claw them out.

No. He wanted to claw _Malone's_ eyes out. He wanted to break every bone in Malone's body. He wanted to watch the light of life go out in Malone's eyes.

He watched, his fists closed so forcefully that his fingers almost drew blood from his palms, as Malone finally headed inside the hotel. Bastard.

He stayed where he was for a while, forcing himself to take deep breaths. He gulped down the last of his martini, then exited the bar.

Sam... She'd really hurt him. She needed to know it.

There was a pay phone close by where he'd parked the car. He took some small change from his pockets, put them into the phone and waited for his call to be picked up. It was an automated line, which he knew already. He'd been planning to send Sam a message through radio even before this revolting incident.

The line opened, he listened to the message from the line operator, drew a shuddering breath and began speaking.

* * *

_"Sam, you really hurt me. Not like you've hurt me before. But I know you'll eventually come around. I know that this was just a misstep in the road we've been given. So, for the time being, I will crawl on my hands and knees until you see you're just like me. Until then... I will pray for you, I will long for you, I will burn for you, Sam."_

Officer Patrick Moses reached for the dial on his car and turned down the volume. Lots of weird messages going out on the airwaves tonight, he thought to himself. The last one had given him a creepy feeling, in particular. Over the decades he'd grown accustomed to listening to the radio during the night shifts. It gave him a feeling of being in someone's company in the middle of the night. It had been a way of passing the time, too, in between pulling over reckless drivers or alerting other units. He wondered if he'd miss the constant chatter of the radio, after all. Usually it was the little things people missed the most.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel and looked out on the street. It seemed like the crowds had thinned out for the night. There was very little traffic. He was about to open his thermos containing the last of his coffee when he noticed a car careening onto the street he was on. The driver hadn't taken notice of the stop sign. He grabbed the police radio, advising his precinct watch commander of his actions, then turned the key in the ignition and drove on after the reckless driver, with emergency lights flashing.

Moses chased the driver for a half a mile before the vehicle pulled over. He radioed in the licence plate of the car and his intent to cite the driver for his violation, then grabbed a flash light and exited his car. He approached the car slowly, his hand on the gun on his waist. You never knew.

He noticed that there was no one on the passenger seat. He walked to stand at the front door, shining his flash light on the inside of the car. He made a motion for the driver to roll down the window. The driver complied and asked, politely enough: "What seems to be the problem, officer?"

"Driver's licence and registration, please," Moses requested. The driver fumbled around, and finally produced the documentation.

"I don't live in Chicago. Did I miss a traffic sign or something?"

Moses took his time to inspect the id and the registration. "You ran a stop sign when you turned onto this street, mr Pabe." He flashed on the driver's licence to read the man's first name again. "Mr Jerry Pabe, is that right?"

* * *

Jerry was cursing his bad luck. This night was about to turn into a complete disaster. First, he'd been forced to watch his Sam dance with Malone. Second, that sickening kiss had happened. Now, he'd been pulled over by an elderly beat cop. His thoughts flew to the gun he had hidden underneath the seat. He could just pull it out and take care of one problem right then and there. Then, he came to his senses. His killing a cop would spark a manhunt he didn't need right now. He had to be smart.

He would kill the man later.

He realised that the officer had asked after his name. "Yes, it's Jerry Pabe."

"I see that you're from Atlanta. You're driving a rental car, is that correct? The registration belongs to Rental Chi-car-go Ltd."

"Yes, I rented this car for the weekend," he replied, trying to peer into the officer's chest to see his name and badge number in case he got out of his predicament without a ticket.

"Wait here, please, mr Pabe," the officer uttered and excused himself. Jerry watched in the rearview mirror as the officer walked back to his car and grabbed the car radio. He guessed that he'd get a ticket, after all. In addition to killing the man, he'd have to hack into the Chicago police department's digital records and get rid of his citation. The car rental firm was run so shoddily that he didn't worry about it at all. He'd just break in, ransack the place and get rid of any mention of himself.

He snapped to when he heard footsteps. The officer was returning. "Step out of the car, please."

Jerry complied. The officer shone his flash light on the ticket pad and explained it to him. "I'm citing you for two hundred dollars for violation code 11-605.3c, failure to obey stop sign, committed on Pearl Street. Here is my signature, it reads Patrick Moses. Please sign on the line here," the cop pointed to a dotted line on the ticket. He signed the ticket meekly.

"The ticket details how you can pay the fine or, should you choose to, how you can pursue this matter in the courts," Moses carried on. "Have a good night, now," Moses wished him, handing him the ticket. Jerry just nodded, got into his car and drove off at a slow pace.

* * *

Moses had backed away when Pabe got into his car. He watched the man drive off down the street. He sighed, thinking to himself that this was probably his last ticket. His shift would end in an hour. He shook his head and headed back to his car. He'd drink his coffee there, then drive back to the intersection of Pearl and Hunter.

The last hour unfolded without incident. He drove the car to the precinct and sat in it for a while before clearing it of his belongings, savouring the bittersweet moment. Then, he sprung into action. He entered the precinct, grateful to have only one citation to turn in. Less paperwork, and he was on a deadline.

He made swift work of his last report, then crossed the room to where Mel Hodgins, the report clerk, was struggling to keep his eyes open. It had been a slow night for the clerk, who was fast approaching retirement, too.

"Hodgins, one more citation for you," Moses waved the papers in his hand.

"A departing gift, huh?" Hodgins grabbed the report and assessed it. "Hm, tidy as usual. Much appreciated." He let the citation rest on the desk while he talked to the retiring cop. He'd read it in greater detail and punch it into the system later. Moses had always been a stickler for precise citation reports.

"Your last shift, isn't it?" At Moses' tired nod, Hodgins grumbled: "Lucky numb nuts."

"You'll be out in less than a year, Mel. Stop whining," Moses laughed off his friend's resentment.

"With my luck, I'll get shot a week before," Hodgins looked gloomy.

"Here's hoping," Moses smirked.

Hodgins made a face. "Anyway, have a good time in Australia. How long are you there for, again?"

"Who knows? I'll be there for the birth, at the very least. Before that, we'll be exploring the outback," Moses extrapolated on his sojourn down under.

Hodgins didn't look impressed. "Bring me some kangaroo meat, whenever you get back."

"I think that's a no-go, but how about a frisbee? Might help you to get in shape, again."

"Screw you," Moses' friend gruffed.

"Love you, too," Moses teased his partner from ten years ago. "Take care, now. I'll send a postcard."

"Yeah, yeah," Hodgins replied nonchalantly and started to pore over the citation report. Moses took that as his cue to leave. He headed down to the locker room, grabbed his already-packed bag and took the picture of him with his late wife and his daughter off the door. He left the locker door open, the keys dangling from the lock.

He walked out of his precinct, the skies still black over the parking lot. He drove out into the quiet streets and headed for the airport. He was off to reunite with his daughter after two long years.


	3. Love's Function Is to Fabricate Unknownn

(Thanks to demonchilde!)

**LOVE'S FUNCTION IS TO FABRICATE UNKNOWNNESS**

As she'd promised Angel, Sam went to bed immediately after the phone call, but her mind was in overdrive. She tossed, turned and fretted in her bed until five am, and was none the wiser for it. A few times she almost walked up to Bailey's room to hash this thing out with him there and then. The fact that Bailey was sharing a room was the only thing that stopped her. So, she listened to the soft sounds a sleeping Grace was making, and cursed everything from her inability to fall asleep to her peculiar impulse that had led her to kiss Bail in the first place.

In the wee hours of the early morning, she came to a conclusion as far as what had caused the kissing. Satisfied that she'd gotten at least one thing straight in her mind, she felt like she could leave the others open for the time being. After all, there were a few issues which would only be solved by seeing her best friend again.

Sam had slept three and a half hours when she grew cognizant of Grace shaking her shoulder in an attemp to awaken her.

"Sam, it's eight thirty. Are you gonna come down for breakfast?"

Sam blinked her bleary eyes, struggling to make sense of Grace's words. She breathed heavily and made an incoherent grunt.

Grace took Sam's drowsiness in stride. "Are you a little hungover?"

Sam assessed her state silently. She wasn't hungover, but it wouldn't do any harm to let Grace think so. It would save her the trouble of evading her friend's questions about her exhaustion.

"Maybe. Go have breakfast, I'll be fine," she muttered, pre-empting Grace's offer of painkillers. She rolled over onto her right side and drew the blanket over her head. Grace took that as her cue to leave and enjoy the continental breakfast at the hotel restaurant.

* * *

John and Marcus were regaling George and Grace with their tales of the poker game they'd played the night before. Marcus had turned out to be quite the card player; he'd walked off with most of the pot. The game had finished at three thirty.

Bailey spied the foursome when he walked into the restaurant. He frowned, wondering why Sam wasn't at the table with the others. He made a beeline to the coffee machine and took coffee to go. He and Sam would need to leave and see Renick in half an hour. Before that, he wanted to go over the MacGruder files one more time.

After some internal debate, he also grabbed an apple from the fruit plates. His normal breakfast consisted of only coffee; he would eat a sandwich at the task force after two hours of work. Armed with his breakfast on the go, he approached his employees.

"Morning," he wished and all four turned their heads to greet him with their own salutations.

"Morning, Bailey. Did you sleep okay?" John asked.

"Well enough," he replied, angling for a tone that sounded even remotely cheerful. The truth was, he hadn't had the best night. He'd been so busy puzzling out the turn of events between him and Sam that sleep had eluded him for hours. Finally, pure exhaustion had had its way and he'd fallen into a restless sleep.

"How was the poker game?"

John looked remarkably glum, while Marcus flashed a pleased grin. "It was alright, man."

"He took me to the cleaners, and most of the others, too," John amended his partner's reply.

Bailey gave his friend a commiserating smile before turning to Grace. "Where's Sam? Isn't she up yet?"

Grace shrugged. "I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn't budge. I think she's a little worse for wear."

Bailey felt a little pang in his heart. Had she really drunk that much last night? What kind of a schmuck was he, having taken advantage of her inebriated state?

He then realised that now wasn't the time to beat himself up. In front of his friends, with the meeting with Renick fast approaching.

"Are you heading up now? Sam needs to get up soon. She wanted to go buy something for Chloe before the ftx," he made up on the fly, then congratulated himself for having landed on a plausible reason for his worry.

"Sure, I'm finished, but you'd better come with me. She didn't pay any heed to my beckoning," Grace informed him.

They headed to the room in silence. Bailey took a few sips of his coffee, bracing himself for seeing Sam again. All of a sudden, he was very aware of each sound, sight and feeling. Like the apple that weighed heavy in his pocket. The ding of the elevator when it reached their storey. The rushing of his blood in his veins.

Grace entered the room, peering around and listening if the shower was running. "Sam?" Grace spotted her friend still in bed, but calling her name didn't have any impact whatsoever.

"Come on in," she remarked to Bailey, then walked over to the window and drew the curtains.

Bailey walked to stand at the foot of Sam's bed. "Sam?" he said gently.

Sam threw off her blanket and shot up in the bed, like an electric current had just passed through her. She gazed at Bail, a little confused as to why he was in her room. "Hey," she croaked, then ran her hands through her hair, a little self-conscious of her appearance.

She looked tired, but even sleep-deprived, she looked beautiful. "Hey," he countered her greeting before continuing: "We have to hurry. If we're going to go shopping for Chloe," he added, hoping that Sam would catch onto the real reason.

She blinked, wondering at his meaning before understanding hit. "Right. Um, give me fifteen minutes?" She would have time for the bare essentials: shower, sorting out her hair and getting dressed.

"Okay. I'll wait downstairs. Bye, Grace." With those words, he was out of their room. Sam sprang into action, cursing her sleepiness that morning.

Fifteen minutes later she stepped into the elevator, putting her bag on the floor while she tied her hair into a loose ponytail. That was the best she could do. She hadn't even put on any make-up. She rummaged her bag and found a lip balm, which she soothed on her parched lips. She felt the rumblings of an empty stomach. Breakfast would have to wait until the meeting was over.

She rushed into the lobby, looking around for Bailey before she spotted him already outside, waiting in front of a taxi. Once outside, she noticed that he was holding a doggy bag that looked quite heavy. As she walked up to him, he reached out and offered the bag to her.

"What's this?" she asked, taking the doggy bag.

"Breakfast. I got you apple juice, bagel, chocolate bar and coffee."

"Oh." She was touched by his gesture. She took a look inside the bag. "There's an apple here, too."

"Oh, sorry. That's for me." A little smile fleeted on his face.

Her stomach lurched a little, a fact she attributed to her hunger. "Well, thank you," she mumbled, giving him a grateful look.

"Don't mention it. Let's get going." Ever the gentleman, he stepped beside the taxi and opened the backseat door for her. He waited for her to climb inside, then shut the door and walked around the taxi to sit next tot Sam.

The ride to the field office was quiet. Sam focused on eating the food Bail had been considerate enough to get for her. She started her breakfast by eating the chocolate bar first. She was oblivious to Bailey's amusement, as he turned his head to stare out of the window to hide his smile. He stepped in when Sam was juggling her bagel and apple juice, snatching the juice container out of her hands without ceremony, freeing Sam to eat the savoury snack in peace.

Bailey had gotten a good selection: the chocolate bar was one of her favorites, she prefered apple juice and the bagel was just cream cheese and tomatoes, another favorite of hers. She decided to pay him back in some way. Before that, though, they'd have to clear the air. Discuss last night's events. She tried to calm down her nerves.

* * *

Sam took a sip of her coffee and let her eyes sweep Renick's office. The office was cluttered, but there seemed to be a method to the madness, judging from the ease with which Renick produced all sorts of documents related to the matter at hand.

Wes Renick had been the liaison agent to the CPD for three years now. He would keep tabs on both FBI and local police department investigations on Henegar. He was a thin man of short stature, with pointy features and thick glasses. His hair was auburn, rendering his presence with the uncanny impression of a fox.

"Let's see, James Quentin Henegar," Renick intoned, immersing himself in the files. "Five disciplinary review board hearings, which didn't lead to any suspensions or charges. You suspected that Henegar shot judge Neal MacGruder in cold blood," Renick muttered.

"There was no suspicion. We know it for a fact," Bailey interjected. "It's all there in the file, along with Agent Waters' profile of Henegar."

"Yes. You'll have to excuse me, but I did some digging and discovered that the MacGruder case was the first one you oversaw after you came back from sick leave, Agent Malone," Renick prodded.

Even without looking at Bailey, Sam knew that he was stunned. She shared his sentiment. She couldn't begin to fathom why Bailey's close call would be significant.

"How is that relevant?" Bailey asked tersely.

"Is it possible that you're just on an ill-advised manhunt that lacks a solid foundation?"

Sam laid her hand on Bailey's arm in a calming gesture and spoke up before Bailey would explode. "No, it isn't. If you don't believe us or you mistrust my profile, feel free to ask for a second opinion from your field office. I believe the Chicago branch staffs four profilers," Sam bit out.

Bailey managed to stay civil in his response: "Read the CPD's internal affairs report on Henegar, then get back to us," Bailey stood up abruptly.

"Agent Malone, there is no need for that. I just wanted to know your motivations for suggesting that the Bureau open a file on the cop," Renick appeased the both of them and waited in silence until Bailey sat back down.

"Well, the situation has changed since your last trip. The disciplinary review board has one new member. In addition, the new district attorney was sworn in February**.** FaithMorgan campaigned on, among other topics, getting rid of police department corruption. She is very serious about the issue. So serious, in fact, that she's increased funding for the internal affairs division."

Bailey knew all of this, and he was getting impatient to hear if actual progress had been made. "And? What's been happening with the case?"

"Internal affairs has a cop working undercover to weed out the corrupt officers. Rest assured that Henegar is one of the key targets. It just takes time," Renick stated matter-of-factly. The two Atlanta-based agents looked somewhat disheartened at the lack of progress, but ultimately seemed to take it in stride. After offering their help in devising a plan to catch Henegar, they thanked him profusely and took their leave.

Renick stayed in his office for a while, musing on the encounter. So they were the famous Bailey Malone, one of the first graduates of the behavioural science unit, and his protege Sam Waters, who herself had a serial killer on her tail. The psychopath known as Jack of All Trades.

After stowing the Henegar files back into the middle of one pile of papers, Renick closed up shop and left to enjoy the rest of his Sunday.

* * *

Sam glanced at Bailey, trying to assess his mood. She knew that he was disappointed in the results of the investigation into Henegar. He stared morosely at the floor of the elevator, apparently unwilling to open up for the time being. She checked the time. It was half past ten.

Bailey ran over the meeting in his head, cursing on the inside. He'd been hoping against hope that the i. a. would have something substantial on Henegar already.

"So, what should we do?" Sam blew out a breath.

He tensed a little, wondering if she was talking about the kissing incident. "About?"

She looked at him curiously. "Your little white lie to Grace? About my wanting to buy a present for Chloe?" He relaxed a little, then paused to consider the little mess he'd landed them in. No department store would be open this early. Why hadn't he thought of that before he'd made up their ruse?

Then, he had a brain wave. "The zoo? It's close, and it should be open at this hour."

It figured that he'd come up with a plan on the fly, and one that Chloe would love, to boot. "Let's go," she flashed a smile at him.

On the taxi ride to the Lincold Park Zoo, both Sam and Bailey fretted the visit, sensing that this might be the best chance they'd get all day to go over what had transpired between them last night.

Once in the shop, Sam browsed the shelves of soft toys on display, trying to remember what animals her daughter already had in her plentiful collection. She figured on approaching the topic consuming her mind after she'd found a passable gift.

Bailey trailed behind her, looking at the toys, but not really seeing them. He was too busy trying to find a segue that would launch their conversation. He observed her obliquely. She looked a little tired, and her whole demeanour was a bit more muted than usual.

He caught up to her at the toy giraffes. Sam was checking the price on a baby giraffe. "You feeling okay? Now?" He wasn't really looking at her when he asked the question.

"Yeah, I am. Why did you ask?"

"I meant, how's your hangover?"

Did he really think she was hungover? More to the point, why was he asking that? "No, I'm not hungover." She caught an impenetrable look on his face, and she froze, guessing that he'd attributed the kissing to her drunken state.

"Listen, Bail, about last night," she began tentatively and noticed that he, in turn, froze from apprehension. "I'm sorry about it. I'm not sure what brought on it, really," she tried to explain.

"I'm sorry about it, too," he jumped in.

She was still on her own train of thought. "I didn't have that much to drink. That wasn't why I... Why we..."

"No, of course not."

Sam bit the bullet. "Okay, look. The fact is, it was bound to happen. Sooner or later. I mean, there's always been this... this attraction between us. Right?" She needed to know that he agreed on everything, and especially on the last bit.

He'd been silent during Sam's rambling sentence, both curious and anxious about what she was going to say. He himself had arrived at the same conclusions, and he hastened to concur. "You're right. I think we just had to get it out of our systems."

She shot him a fleeting glance. "And you did?"

He nodded quickly. "And you?"

"Yeah, I did," she furrowed her brow, wondering why they were suddenly finding it hard to look at one another.

"So we don't need to dwell on it anymore."

"Absolutely," she nodded her head vehemently, considered the baby giraffe toy in her hands and cleared her throat. "I'm gonna get this for Chloe. We saw giraffes at the zoo in Atlanta, so she'll love it for sure."

* * *

Bailey took a deep breath and frowned, his mental facilities still too sleepy to understand the announcement blaring on the plane. He tried to raise his left hand to rub his face and shake off the doldrums, but he felt nothing where his arm should be. He jerked his head straight and looked to the left. Then, he saw what he'd been leaning his head against, and what was also blocking off his circulation.

The offending factor was Sam's head. Once again, she was sleeping and resting her head on his shoulder. Only she wasn't sleeping anymore. She, too, had been roused awake by the announcement.

Sam blinked her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling a familiar scent. Old Spice. Bailey. She connected the two instantly, then noticed something curious going on with Bailey's hands. He was rubbing his left arm with his right hand. She realised that she'd again been using him as her upright pillow. She jerked away to sit squarely on her own seat by the window.

"Sorry, did your arm go dead?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

"It's fine, it'll come back." He was now free to shake some blood into his arm. Now, if only the arm itself would obey a simple command. No such luck.

She observed his frustrated expression and guessed its cause. "Let me," she remarked and grabbed his arm with both of her hands, giving the limp limb a light massage. He focused on sensing his dead extremity.

Before long, the blood started circulating, and the prickling sensation of the restored blood flow needled his whole arm. "Ah, hell," he couldn't help muttering.

She stopped her massage instantly, scared that she'd somehow hurt him. "What?"

"No, not that. The blood's coming back and it prickles," he muttered, staring at his arm like he couldn't believe it wasn't being stabbed with a thousand tiny needles.

She resumed her massage to his surprise. "You don't need to do that now."

"It'll help. Trust me," she uttered in a determined tone. He had to admit that the tactile contact did alleviate the prickling. She moved slowly her hands down his arm, finally reaching his hand and concentrating her efforts on his palm. Which she worked on for a while, so long infact, that he had to call her name. "Sam?"

She snapped to from her zone, wondering herself where she'd gone. She turned her eyes to his face and saw a slightly inquisitive look in his eyes. "It's all better now. Thanks."

"My pleasure. My fault, after all," she quipped, trying to get over the awkwardness that was between them even though they'd cleared the air earlier on. She gave him a small smile, then began gazing out of the window, willing herself to stay awake for the rest of the flight. She was sure she'd rested her head on the wall when she'd closed her eyes to sleep. She must have changed her position drastically while asleep. What worried her, though, that the action had been unconscious.

* * *

Sam opened the elevator door to find her daughter and her roommate standing in wait in the living room of their house.

"Hey, welcome home!" Angel's happy greeting rang out.

"Mommy, you're back!" Chloe flew into her mother's arms.

"Good to be back, sweetie. I missed you terribly and I was only gone one day!" Sam pressed kisses into her daughter's hair.

Chloe frowned as she took in the empty elevator. "Didn't Uncle Bailey want to come up?"

"No, he didn't give me a lift, John did. But Bailey did help me pick out something for you." Sam saw Angel give her a knowing smile. Sam hid from it by rummaging her bag for Chloe's souvenir.

"Here you go," Sam handed the toy to Chloe to the little girl's delighted squeals.

"I love it! Look, Angel, I got a baby giraffe."

"I see it, honey. It's very nice."

"I'm gonna go play with it. It needs a name!" The excited girl ran to her room, attracting Denzel's attention in the process. The dog jogged after Chloe to see what all her excitement was about.

Angel was throwing on her coat. "Where are you going?" Sam had been looking forward to unburdening her thoughts with her friend.

"I'm off to John's for a couple of hours. I'll be back before nine. I'd better dash before Denzel notices me heading downstairs."

"Should I walk him?"

"Thanks, but you don't have to, I'll do it when I get back. In the mean time, if you don't have anything to do, you could always call Bailey, pick up where you two left off last night," Angel teased her. Sam shot her friend a scathing stare, who thought nothing of it.

"Now, later on, I expect a full account of everything. Especially the smooches, so get to thinking about them," Angel wiggled her eye brows in a suggestive manner. Sam rolled her eyes to cover her blushing.

* * *

Bailey entered his house through the garage door. He could instantly hear Frannie laughing to her heart's content. She was watching something on the tv, but she noticed him advancing in the kitchen.

"Hey Dad, welcome home," she shot up from the sofa to greet him.

"Hi, Frannie. Did everything go okay while I was gone?"

She shook her head in amused disbelief. "You were gone for only one day, and does it look like I burned the house down? " Her dad smiled at her question, but something in his face looked out of place. He seemed a little distracted.

"So, how was Chicago?"

He shrugged. "It was fine. The hotel was nice, the workshops were useful and the food was good."

"And what about fun? Did you have a good time?"

His mind immediately jumped to moments with Sam. Her joke on the plane. His fetching coffee for her. The hornet killing mission. The dancing. The... He stopped that train of thought forcefully, annoyed at himself. Hadn't he just hours ago agreed with Sam not to dwell on it anymore? "Yes. Uh, have you eaten?" Better to change the subject altogether.

"I made some pasta and blue cheese sauce. Are you hungry? I could warm up a plate for you."

"I'd like that. Thank you. I'm gonna go unpack." He withdrew to his room, threw the bag on the bed and strode to the window. He stared out into the dimming light of day and took a few deep breaths.

Their goodbye at the airport parking lot had been marred by an unease that wasn't like them. He didn't think the others had noticed their awkward parting, but he'd felt it strongly. Any other time, they would have hugged and maybe even kissed one another on the cheek. That would have been normal for them. He wondered how Sam had taken it. Had she realized it?

The fact was, in spite of their well-intentioned agreement, the events of last night had been more or less on his mind all day. Just as he'd start to relax subconsciously, the knowledge, the memory, the experience would creep out of the corners of his brain and he'd be reminded of it. He didn't seem capable of going ten minutes without a thought, however fleeting, bombarding his mind.

It was just... there. Forever on the outskirts. Like a damn loop.

_The sweet small clumsy feet of April came into the ragged meadow of my soul. _

A stanza from a poem he'd read a long time ago floated to him. Maybe by e. e. cummings? Sam still had his book.

In a way, he welcomed her two-week vacation from the job. A fortnight should be more than enough time to get over this... preoccupation.

He heard his daughter beckoning him from the kitchen. He abandoned his musings for the time being.

He should try to look up the poem.

* * *

Sam was shoving some laundry into the dryer when she heard Denzel bark softly once. She paused her task and heard Angel shushing her dog sternly. She put on the dryer before making her way to the living room. Denzel had retreated to his usual place beside the elevator, having divined that his mistress wouldn't take him out straight away.

Angel had sut down on the sofa, thrown on a blanket and arranged herself into a good position. When she spotted her friend, she made a beckoning gesture and rubbed her hands together in a show of excitement.

"C'mon, Sam, time to spill. You know you want to," she taunted.

Sam made a disapproving face. "I'm starting to doubt if I want to."

"Damn, I forgot the popcorn," Angel sighed dramatically.

"I can't believe how much fun you're having at my expense!" Sam flopped down on the couch, shaking her head.

"Please, just let me enjoy this. This is the most fun I've had in a year."

"What about John?"

"That's totally different. This is girl dish fun. But okay, I'll dial it back. So?" Angel invited Sam to share.

"So," Sam repeated the word, not sure where to start.

It looked like Angel would have to do all the leg work. "So did you two talk about the kisses?" she opened bluntly.

"We did, at the zoo shop," Sam remarked in a breezy enough tone.

"And?" Angel prodded.

"We agreed that it was bound to happen at one point, and that we'd gotten it out of our systems. No danger of it happening again." Sam stared straight ahead, unconsciously biting her lip.

"Seriously?" Angel let her disbelief shine through in her reply.

"Yes!" Sam shot her an annoyed look.

"That was the extent of your conversation?"

"Uh huh." Sam nodded her head forcefully.

"Okay... Let me process that a while." Angel had been entertaining the hope that this incident would knock some sense into the couple, but it seemed like both Sam and Bailey were only too happy to be completely oblivious and in denial.

She would try another tack. "What happened before? What led you to kiss him in the first place?"

"Oh, well, he'd been teaching me the steps to the bossa nova, which I finally aced. He called me Kid again, and I messed with him a little, made him believe that I somehow resented it. He looked totally baffled, at which point I took it back and kissed him on the side of the mouth. And then..." Sam trailed off, hoping that Angel would get the picture.

"Sam..." Angel sighed heavily.

"Yeah?" Sam was irritated.

The artist leveled a sober stare at her friend. "Are you sure, really sure, that there isn't more to this than meets the eye?"

"Yes," Sam answered resolutely.

"Okay." Angel had her doubts, but knew it would be futile to voice them. It would just antagonise Sam. "So, what else did you get up to in the Windy City?"

Sam relaxed a little when the conversation landed on safer ground. She was a little surprised that Angel hadn't pressed for more details, but it was a neglect on Angel's part that she was all too happy to overlook. Even after the discussion at the zoo shop, her thoughts had been pretty much consumed by the incident – which was what she was calling it in her head – and she was in desperate need of a respite. So, she happily recounted what had happened at the workshops, how the hotel room had been, what had transpired at the ftx.

She just left out a few details. Like leaning her head on his shoulder whilst sleeping, there and back. Getting Bailey's help with the hornet intruder. Feeling almost pleased at his reaction to the sight of her underwear. Almost drifting away whilst massaging his palm. Feeling vaguely deflated by their goodbye.

Things Angel might take the wrong way. Things of no consequence, really.

Anyway, she had two weeks' time to get her head on straight. Two weeks to shake off these... feelings.

Plenty of time.


	4. Terribly Afar in the Lost Lands

(Thanks to demonchilde, once again.)

**TERRIBLY AFAR IN THE LOST LANDS**

Sam began her vacation in grand style: she slept for ten glorious hours, and felt truly invigorated for it. She and Chloe had a lazy morning whilst Angel busied herself downstairs in her studio. The mother-daughter pair were discussing their plans for the fortnight when Angel reappeared in the house, famished and looking for a break from her sweaty bout of work.

"So, do you have any firm plans yet?" Angel asked and took a cold mineral water out of the fridge.

Sam checked the list she had compiled. "Well, we're going to the zoo on Wednesday, and Charles' party is on Saturday, we'll stay the night there and come back on Sunday. We might go to the Margaret Mitchell museum one day. Oh, I want to buy a nice dress for Chloe for the party. You wanna tag along tomorrow?"

"Sure, count me in. What's cooking in the oven?"

"Hm?" Sam was currently engrossed in a Kodak catalogue. "Oh, it's mac and cheese. It'll be ready in twenty minutes. Look at this. What do you think?"

Angel inspected the lense Sam pointed out to, then read through the technical information, which said very little to her. "It looks good, but why are you asking me? You're the photographer in this household."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam considered the lense, worrying her lip. Then, she nodded, her mind made up. "I'm gonna go for it. I'll buy it tomorrow," she stated triumphantly and closed the catalogue.

"Good for you," Angel chuckled. "Hey, it's Monday. Are you gonna attend the women's exercise class tonight?"

Sam furrowed her brow. "Oh. That hadn't occurred to me. I'll think about it."

Angel looked dubious about Sam's words. "Right. I'll take a quick shower before eating."

"Yup," Sam checked the dish baking in the oven. It looked just as it should. She bit back a yawn, then wondered how on earth she could be tired this early in the day. Maybe she'd slept too much, or the work she'd put in this year was catching up to her. Or perhaps she was still tired from the night before.

Her thoughts flew to Bailey. What was he doing at that exact moment, how he was faring? Then, she checked herself. She was going on like he was in some predicament. He wasn't.

She stood up and refilled her glass of water at the sink. She pondered going to the exercise class later that day. Sticking to a routine might be a good thing. On the other hand, she could run into Bailey in the building, although the possibility was pretty remote. The thing was, she didn't know if she wished for or dreaded the encounter.

She decided to skip the class. She felt like she needed some distance from even the building where he... _she_ worked. She was on holiday, after all. Maybe she'd join Angel in one of her workouts to stay active.

* * *

Just as Sam's thoughts swirled around Bailey, the man himself was examining the profile Sam had written of the second killer in the Tuscaloosa case. He would familiarise himself with it, then introduce it to the task force and give it to George for distribution within the Bureau and local police departments.

He finished reading the file, satisfied that Sam had hit the mark on all accounts. Then again, very seldomly was she in the wrong with a profile.

He wondered what she and Chloe had in store for their vacation together. Many visits to the zoo, if the girl had any say in the matter. And they'd be gone for the weekend. They'd be in Richmond for Charles' party.

Not seeing Sam for fifteen hours and counting had brought some peace of mind. Now, he was reminded of the kiss only every thirty minutes. And there it was again. He shook his head to clear his thoughts once again. He dialled George on the intercom and asked him to assemble the team to the command center. He'd introduce Sam's profile for the second Tuscaloosa killer in half an hour.

* * *

Sam, Chloe and Angel were browsing racks of girls' party dresses in a small boutique. Having splashed a small fortune on a new lens for her camera, Sam had decided that nothing was too expensive for her little girl. Fair's fair, after all, and most of the fancy dresses Chloe owned were Angel's handiwork, anyway.

Sam sized up a lavender dress with a white belt and bow on the waist. Angel approached her, holding a couple of dresses she'd selected herself to present to the duo.

"What do you think?" Sam held up the lavender dress in front of her.

"I don't know, it might be a bit too tiny. Do they even have that in your size?" Sam rolled her eyes at Angel's joke.

"All kidding aside, it's pretty. Chlo should definitely try it on. I found a few dresses myself. How's Chloe coming along?" Angel's gaze swept the place, then she chuckled when she saw the girl at the accessories section, trying on fascinators.

Sam followed Angel's gaze and gave her friend a wry smile. "I'm afraid you've spoiled my daughter. She has no stamina for clothes shopping."

"In a few years' time, you'll be thanking me. Have you decided what you're going to wear?"

"I'm not buying anything new, I'll tell you that right now. I'll probably wear the dress I had on at the Women in Law Enforcement thing." Sam moved a bit further along, then considered a pale blue polka dot dress with a long hem.

"Yeah, that should be fine. Come on, let's have Chloe try these on."

Sam abandoned the racks of clothes, taking with her the polka dot dress. The women walked up to Chloe, who was admiring a cute pair of giraffe earrings.

"Mom, can I have these? Please?"

Sam took the earrings and inspected them. "What are you talking about? These are for pierced ears, honey."

"But they're so cute! They look exactly like Gaby."

"Who's Gaby?"

"She's the baby giraffe you brought me from Chicago."

"Be that as it may, we're not getting any earrings. I've told you that we can pierce your ears when you're eleven. That still stands."

"Mom," Chloe pleaded futilely.

"I said no. Now, let's try on these dresses. Angel found some really nice ones. See?" Chloe was pouting and paid no heed to her mom's words.

"I'll take her to the fitting booths," Angel offered and took the two dresses Sam had selected. "Come on, Chlo. Look, I found you a dress with Snow White on the front. Tell me that isn't pretty," she cajoled the little girl and managed to lift her spirits. Angel and Chloe headed off to the left, in the direction of the fitting booths. Sam sighed and blessed her stars that she had Angel to help.

She took a closer look at the earrings and determined that Chloe had been right. The giraffes were cute and chubby in a lanky way, just like Gaby.

Her mind wandered to Chicago, but she stopped that train of thought resolutely before following her daughter and her friend.

* * *

Bailey, John, Marcus and George were conferring in the command center, going over the Tuscaloosa case victims and trying to round up potential suspects from people either the local pd's or the Bureau had come across.

The intercom buzzed with an incoming internal call. George reached for the receiver. "Command center, Fraley. Yes, he is here. One sec. Bailey, there's a call from the Sander Institute for Sam. A doctor called Simons is on the line."

Bailey concluded quickly that Wykoff must want to get in touch with Sam again. "Tell the operator I'll take the call in my office." He excused himself with haste and sauntered to his office, where the call waiting button on his phone was blinking away furiously.

"This is Agent Malone."

"Hello, I'm doctor Anna Simons from the Sander Institute. I was hoping to reach Agent Waters," the doctor announced politely.

"She's currently on holiday. I'm her boss. May I ask why you're calling her?"

"My patient Elliot Wykoff hopes that she'd pay him another visit."

Bailey had been right on the money. For all of Wykoff's progress, he still wasn't socially functionable. He wouldn't probably ever use the phone on his own. "I see. I can get in touch with her and ask her to call you back. Would that do?"

"That'd be splendid. Thank you. Goodbye."

"Goodbye." He hung up, then hit the speed dial to call Sam on her cell phone.

"Sam Waters." She sounded a little distracted.

He took a deep breath without realizing it. "Hey Sam, it's me."

"Hey, Bail. What's up?" Though he couldn't be sure, he thought he could detect some guarded hope in her voice.

"I just got a call from Doctor Simons. Wykoff wants you to visit him again."

"Oh. Did she say when?" He could tell that she'd been surprised. But by what?

"No, but she's waiting for your call. Can you call her, or should I get in touch with her?" Unaware, he'd turned to gaze at Sam's office, even though he knew she wasn't there.

"Nah, I can call her. Do you want to come along, if you're free that day?"

"I'll make the time."

"Okay. I'll let you know the time and date. I'd better call her right now." She sounded a bit wistful.

For some strange reason, he echoed her sentiment. "Yeah. Talk to you later. Bye."

"Bye."

He stood by his desk for a moment, wondering why he should feel so melancholy after their call. Then, he shook off those reflections. He could try to work them out at the gym later that day. Right now, his agents were waiting in the command center.

* * *

Frances cricked her neck, letting her hands rest on top of the keyboard. She was composing an email to her sister. She was writing it to be complete before she dialled up the Internet connection. Her dad had occasionally chided her about the amount of money her Internet surfing was costing him, and she was trying to keep her nose clean in that regard. Too bad calling another state was so expensive, too. She could call Arianna and their mom in Baltimore only once a month.

Arianna had suggested a visit in Atlanta during her summer break. She'd begged and pleaded with her mom until Janet had agreed to foot the bill for the plane ride. Now, it was just a question of arranging the time. Something Frances had forgotten to ask her dad about. Ari's visit would be a good reason for him to have a couple days off, maybe even a whole week.

Frances heard her dad calling out to her from the kitchen. He'd arrived home. "Hey, I'm in my room!"

Bailey walked up to his daughter's room. "Hey sweetheart. How was your day?"

Frances turned around to face him. "Hi. It was fine. Nothing much happened. How about you? Catch any bad guys today?" she asked with a smile.

Bailey leant against the door frame. "Not today, but we're getting closer to a few. What are you doing?"

"Writing an email to Ari. I totally forgot to tell you that mom finally agreed to pay for her plane tickets for Columbus Day. Would that be a good time for you? Could you take a week off?" she asked in a hopeful tone.

"Well..." Frances' face darkened with disappointment at his hedging, and Bailey felt rotten.

"Come on, dad! Even the president gets to have a vacation," she pointed out.

He relented, knowing that a vacation together would be something they'd all cherish. "You're right. I'll check tomorrow at the task force which week would work for me."

"Yay! Thank you!" Frances flew to her dad's neck and hugged him. "Thank you so much. They'll be fine without you for one week. Sam's more than capable of heading the task force."

"Yes, she is. Now, what have you had to eat?"

"We still have the pasta from last night. I'll warm it up after I've sent Ari the email. And no, I won't stay on and surf on those GeoCities webrings," she said to pre-empt her dad's warning.

Bailey ambled to his own room, laid his brief case on the bed, took off the gun and its holster from its strap under his arm and placed them in the gun safe. He shook off his jacket and folded it onto the bed. He'd take it to the dry cleaners tomorrow, so there was no use in hanging it in the closet.

He loosened the knot on his tie and opened the upmost button of his dress shirt. He'd worn his purple tie today. In an effort to convince himself that everything was normal, and that nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the past week.

He had to admit that he missed having Sam at the task force. But even more than missing her, he worried about her. About them. There was uncertainty where there used to be closeness; he could sense it even in their phone calls.

Maybe the kisses had broken something between them. That was only the seventh time he'd thought of them today. He might as well take that as progress. So, there was that, if nothing else. Just the fading impact of the incident that may have wrought havoc on his closest friendship.

It was probably for the best that Ari was coming to Atlanta for a visit. Spending time with his daughters might save him from becoming entirely disillusioned and jaded.

* * *

Charles' birthday party was underway. The guests numbered in at two dozen, most of whom neither Sam nor Chloe had met before. They were Charles' cousins, old neighbours and former colleagues. The only familiar faces were Tom's immediate family; Helen, Charles, Margaret and Emma. Margaret was the eldest of the children. She'd been two years Tom's senior. Like her parents, she'd gone into horse rearing and ran her own stables twenty miles out of Richmond. Emma, the baby daughter, was three years younger than Tom, and worked as a paralegal at a successful law firm in Virginia Beach.

Margaret had always been consumed by her own existence, and she had only ever had but the faintest interest in the lives of her younger siblings. Accordingly, she'd never had any relationship to Sam apart from their in-law status. Emma, on the other hand, had adored her brother, and by extension, Sam. Her loving Chloe went without saying.

Wanting to start healing the breach as soon as possible, Sam had offered her assistance to Helen after she and Chloe had taken their bags up to the guest room. Helen had declined the offer frostily, insisting that everything was under control. Sam had taken the rejection graciously, and had made up her mind to see to it that Chloe enjoyed her time there. She guessed that she wouldn't be as lucky.

Fortunately, Charles hadn't let the outcome of the custody trial sour his view of his former daughter-in-law, and Emma was as amiable as ever, instantly engrossing herself in all things Chloe. Margaret showed interest in her niece, but it never approached the adoring heights of her sister's conduct. Midway through the soiree, as Chloe was performing her Sleepy solo for the benefit of the party guests, Sam headed to the kitchen to make another attempt to thaw out Helen's icy demeanour.

"Helen, Chloe's performing her Sleepy ballet solo. I can take over in here."

"Oh, I'm sure she'll do it again," the older woman dismissed Sam's good-will gesture with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Sam fought to conceal her disappointment. "You're probably right. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, it's all taken care of."

"Okay. Listen, how busy are you the week following the next? Maybe Chloe could spend it here, with you."

"The whole week?"

"Yes. I've been on holiday this week, and I have next week off, too, but then I go back to work. I thought that Chlo would love to spend some time here. Would that suit you?"

"It's a little short notice, but she's welcome here anytime, as you well know," Helen said curtly.

Sam decided to overlook that little jab. "Great. I'll reserve flights for next Sunday and the week after."

"You do that."

Helen continued puttering around the spacious kitchen. Sam decided to broach another topic that had been a small bone of contention between the two women.

"Chloe's turned into a speed reader. She can go through an entire book in practically one sitting."

"Oh my," was all Helen said on the subject, sounding wary.

"Some time ago, I asked you about some books Tom loved as a child. The Chronicles of Narnia. I was wondering if you'd had the time to look for them." Sam noticed that Helen's posture stiffened when she mentioned the topic again.

"I'm sorry, I haven't."

"Well, I could help you look for them. I believe Chloe would dearly love to read books her dad owned."

"What books, mommy?" Chloe had snuck up on them while their backs were to the door. Sam could see a peeved expression on Helen's face. The woman was as loath as ever to part with anything she associated with Tom, even for her own granddaughter's benefit.

"A few children's books that your daddy used to own, honey," Sam answered.

"Children's books? Can I have them, grandma?"

"I don't know where they are, sweetie," Helen said, trying to conceal her irritation.

"Maybe me and mommy can help you find them, then," Chloe suggested with an eager look on her face.

"Tell you what. We'll look for them," Helen agreed.

"Thank you! I'll go tell Emma." Chloe skipped her way out of the kitchen, leaving the adults in an uncomfortable mood between them.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for her to hear that."

"I'm sure you didn't." Helen's bark was covered by a thin veil of sincerity. "Well, the books must be in the storage room. We'll look there tomorrow," she informed Sam in a reluctant tone.

Sam had just given Helen a major win by suggesting that Chloe spend a week with them, the first time the girl would spend time alone with her grandparents after the custody trial. But, Helen wasn't willing to give an inch in return. "Thank you. I'll go and join the party," Sam managed to reply in a civil manner before leaving the kitchen.

Sam joined the others in the spacious living room. She entered the fray as Charles seemed to be telling a yarn from his professional horse breeder days. She didn't feel like trying to catch up to the story by guessing at the missing pieces, and she was still fuming from her unintentional run-in with Helen. She decided to go rummage the boxes in the storage room for a while. She grabbed her trench on the way out, not wanting to soil her dress with dust.

The room was situated next to the garage. It was a large space filled with boxes, a spare bed, a few lounge chairs and a sun shade. The Waters had a different storage for all the extra horse rearing and grooming equipment.

She put on her trench and made an educated guess as to in which corner of the room the books might be stored. She started dismantling one column of boxes, placing them on the bed and peering inside if they seemed heavy enough to contain books. She worked up a sweat looking into her first eight boxes. She decided to slow down, or otherwise, she'd rejoin the party conspicuously sweaty.

Sam realized the reason behind her unintentional workout: she'd been giving an outlet to her frustration with Helen. The woman knew how to rile her up. The queen of passive aggression.

She took a deep breath, checking her emotions. She wasn't angry at Helen. Well, not solely at her mother-in-law. She realized with a jolt that she was also mad at herself. Mad at Bailey.

Because she missed him. She missed _them_, as they had been a week ago, when the kisses had yet to happen.

She'd only spoken to him once all week. No wonder she missed him.

As it happened, she'd left her cell phone in her trench pocket after she'd called Angel just before arriving to Helen and Charles'. She fished it out, punching in Bailey's cell phone number without a moment's hesitation.

He answered on the fifth ring. "Malone."

"Hey Bailey, it's me," she began unsurely, all of a sudden tentative. What if he asked why she was calling? Missing the way they'd been a week ago would sound like the ramblings of a mad woman, however valid they may be.

"Hey. What's going on? Isn't Charles' party underway?"

"It is. I'm just..." She fell silent, wondering what to say. There was no need; Bailey guessed readily her motivation.

"Taking a breather?"

She smiled at his wording. "In a way." She looked around the storage room. "I'm looking for some old books of Tom's. In the storage room by the garage," she added, thinking that Bailey would be amused by her choice of distraction.

"Well, you know what they say. There's no time like the present." She could hear his delight in his voice.

"My thoughts exactly," she chuckled. "Anyway. What were you up to?"

"I was educating Frannie on the fine art of motion pictures. We're watching Casablanca."

"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's fine. Judging from the way she bolted to the bathroom when you called, I'd say she welcomed the break."

"Okay, good. So." Again, she wondered how to continue. "Any other plans?"

"After this, I'm cooking dinner, and then it's Queen of Africa."

Sam couldn't help tilting her head to the side and grinning. "Are you having a Humphrey Bogart marathon?"

"Frannie stipulated that we should watch at least one movie with a happy ending, but otherwise, she gave me free reign," he defended his choices.

"Maybe next time you could watch a foreign film, too. Any film by Fellini should be an excellent choice. Plus, it'd be in Italian." Sam was pleased that their conversation was once again flowing so effortlessly.

"Hm, that's a good idea. Although, that's gonna get Frannie going again about a trip to Italy."

"And she'd be right in insisting that you go there. Come on, Bail, live a little."

"It isn't a matter of living, it's a matter of financing," he pointed out.

"Ah. Maybe you'll win the lottery one of these days."

"Here's hoping. But I will have you know that I have arranged to take off the Columbus Day week. Arianna's coming to Atlanta."

"Finally! Not the Arianna bit, but the vacation. Anyway, that's great."

Sam heard footsteps behind her, and she swung around to see Emma entering through the door. "Listen, I've gotta go. Have fun with Frances. I'll talk to you later."

"Give me love to Chloe. Bye."

"I will. Bye."

Emma considered her widowed sister-in-law and struggled to hide her curiosity about whom Sam had been calling. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but she had noticed the warm, soft quality in Sam's voice in no time.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to disrupt. I just came looking for you."

"No, it's fine. I was just talking to Bailey," she explained, clearing her throat a little.

"Bailey?" Sam seemed to suppose that Emma knew the person in question, and so she searched her memory for an acquaintance with that name.

She came up short. "Is she one of your friends from college?"

Sam laughed out loud. "No, Bailey is a he. He's my friend. My boss at the task force."

"Ah. What are you doing here? You left close to thirty minutes ago."

"Have I been here that long? Shit. I had no idea."

"Don't worry about Chloe. I told her that I was going to look for you."

"I was just searching for some books for Chloe. The Chronicles of Narnia that used to belong to Tom."

Emma shot her an incredulous look. "Why are you looking here? I think they're in Tom's old room."

Sam's anger flared. "Your mom said... Nevermind," she reined in her resentment. "Let's get back to the party."

* * *

Frances hurried back to the couch, eager to continue the saga of Rick and Elsa. She would have preferred to stay in her place and follow discreetly the phone call between her dad and Sam, but nature had called. She scrunitinized her dad in one quick glance as she took the final steps and sat down. He looked... relieved, if that was the right word for it.

She knew that Sam was on vacation, and she could tell that her dad missed seeing his friend everyday. Whenever he came home these past five days, he seemed somehow subdued. Like one tiny thread of his animated existence had been cut. Now, she could see a glimmer of it again.

Her dad drew his eyes away from the telephone. "You ready to continue?"

She nodded. "Let's watch Rick single-handedly defeat the Nazis. That's what happens, right?" Her dad shook his head, amused, and pushed the play button.


	5. Might Take a Little Crime

(Thank you to my beta reader, demonchilde.)

**MIGHT TAKE A LITTLE CRIME**

Jerry took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. He drew the baseball cap lower on his head, checked that he had his equipment, cast a look around and then got out of his car. It felt good to be active, after a week of suffering a raging inferno inside his head.

Oh, he had spent a considerable amount of time forging the right plan to get rid of Moses and the citation he'd earned by his lapse of judgment. Still, the hurt Sam had visited upon him had consumed him almost entirely. She had no idea of the suffering he'd gone through.

Luckily his pain had been mitigated by the fact that up until this morning, Malone hadn't visited the house even once. He'd gone to the office building every night to check the day's footage. The bastard's absence gave him hope that Sam had seen the error of her ways. Of course, he couldn't know if his beloved was calling the man, but he had to take his victories where he could.

He heard a car cruising down the road behind the car rental offices, and he ducked in between cars. He listened intently before sighing in relief. The vehicle had driven on. He could proceed without a fear of complications.

Jerry sped under the glare of the parking lot lights to the side windows. He took out his gear and jimmied the window open. He heaved himself up and slid through the crack into the premises. He surveyed the parking lot for a while before moving on. It wouldn't do to have someone seeing him and calling the police.

Nothing and nobody moved in the parking lot. With a pleased smile, he walked into the office room and started going through the filing cabinets. He had to find his rental papers.

* * *

After having successfully broken and entered into the Chi-car-go offices, Jerry spent the rest of the night casing the street where Moses lived. Some houses had alarm systems just like Moses' home. Other than that, it was just another mundane street of Americana. Picket fences, tidy lawns, two cars and 1.83 rug rats. He curled his lip in disdain.

He estimated that he'd have 'til eight, just two hours, before the street would liven up and he'd have to make himself scarce. He would return to the cheap motel where he'd rented a room under an alias, this time opting to not use a name associated with Sam. He was trying to fly as under the radar as possible.

He'd walked around the perimeter of Moses' house in the dead of night. He'd seen a nice patio door which would be an easy point of entry. He was surprised that a cop wouldn't beef up the security of his own house, but it did make the matter easier on himself. He would only have to kill the alarm.

Jerry crouched lower on the passenger seat when he spied a paper boy on his route, riding a bike in the middle of the road. The paper boy tossed the newspapers with ease and accuracy to the front steps of each house. Until he reached Moses' home. That one the paper boy skipped.

Jerry frowned, puzzled. Why would an elderly beat cop skip his morning paper, on a Sunday, no less? Was it a mistake on the paper boy's part, did the cop subscribe to a different newspaper, or was he out of town? The paper boy rode past Jerry's car without a care in the world. Jerry surmised that there had been no error.

He cursed under his breath. Moses might be out of town, thereby dragging out the end to this misstep. He started the engine and drove on at a crawl, keeping his eye on the left. He'd passed four houses before he found what he'd glanced. "For sale" sign standing on the front yard of a light blue house that had seen better days.

* * *

Jerry checked his mask on the rearview mirror, making sure that it didn't stand out too much. He was donning the costume he'd worn the day he'd killed Tom Waters. That had been a spectacular day.

He stood out of the car and strode purposefully to the front door of the light blue house. He greeted the realtor hosting the open house and took the pamphlet offered to him. Pretending to read it, he quickly took in the situation and ascertained that only six other people had shown up. Good. The realtor wouldn't be distracted by too many enquiries. He could ask his questions and leave shortly.

He fed lies of having to move to Chicago for his job and being househunting so that his family could join him there. The oblivious realtor was lapping up his explanations.

Jerry went in for the kill. "Here. My girls," he whipped out his wallet and showed the realtor a photo of Sam and Chloe. The man murmured his admiration.

"The love of my life, and the apple of my eye. Obviously, security is a consideration," he stressed and gave the realtor a meaningful gaze.

"The house comes with an installed alarm system," the man pointed out, looking satisfied.

"Is this a peaceful neighbourhood?"

"You betcha. Not a burglary or a speeding ticket in two years."

"Oh? So there might not be a police car anywhere in the vicinity, should something tragic happen, God forbid," he feigned fretting.

"No, no. A cop lives just down the street, as a matter of fact," the realtor was quick to alleviate his doubts.

"Really? I didn't see a police car parked outside."

"He might be on the job."

Jerry's face conveyed doubt, and the realtor, keen to not lose a lucrative provision, saw the owner of the neighbouring house coming out to walk his dog. The realtor scurried outside to accost the neighbour, and Jerry trailed behind him, revelling in the ease of manipulating the hoi polloi.

The realtor struck up a conversation with the dogwalker, quickly getting to the point. "I seem to recall that one of your neighbours is a policeman. My clients, the Holmes family, made a reference to that fact sometime. "

The dog started barking at Jerry, who stalled in his steps, choosing to remain ten feet away. The owner shushed the dog before replying: "Yes, Patrick is a cop. He lives there, in the dark green house. But he isn't here for the rest of the summer."

"Oh? Is he planning to move away?" the oblivious realtor enquired, much to Jerry's pleasure.

"Nah, he's gone off to Australia. On a family visit."

Jerry's mood darkened when he heard the whereabouts of the cop. He hadn't anticipated that. It would take considerable effort to find out where in Australia Moses was, and even then, the whole thing could blow up in his face. Besides, he couldn't possibly put an ocean between him and Sam. He needed to stay on top of the situation with Malone.

As much as he hated it, he would have to let matters rest for the time being. The silver lining was that if he couldn't get to Moses, neither could the task force. The only thing he could do now was to hack into the CPD internal computer network and get rid of his citation.

He returned to the Holmes residence and spent another five minutes there before making his exit. A long car ride back to Atlanta awaited. He would have two days' worth of surveillance footage to go over.


	6. My World Will Change for Me

(Thanks to demonchilde!)

**MY WORLD WILL CHANGE FOR ME**

Tuesday was the day Sam and Bailey were to visit Wykoff. They'd agreed that Sam would pick up Bailey from the task force and give him a ride back, since the visiting time they'd arranged coincided with Bailey's working hours. Bailey had called to say he was running a bit late, and Sam had taken the opportunity to pop into a cafe for some takeaway. So, she was standing in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of her car, sipping her coffee and munching on her apple muffin when she spotted Bailey walking out of the federal building. She stood up straight, hoping to catch his eye with the motion.

She tried to ignore the slight, perplexing wave of disquiet that was swelling inside her. She wasn't nervous about meeting him. She felt like the phone call had repaired their relationship to its previous state. She was sure they'd be at ease with one another. Now was not the time to delve into why she felt nervous.

"Hi, Sam," he said from ten feet away. He was wearing sunglasses, and his normal suit, without the vest he'd used to put on regularly up until some time ago. She briefly wondered when he'd stopped wearing the vests.

"Hey. Here," she offered him a doggy bag before explaining: "It's coffee and bagel, in case you're hungry."

"Thanks. You shouldn't have."

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "Would you rather just watch me eat? That'd be plain rude, and my mother didn't raise me that way," she joked and popped the last bite of her muffin into her mouth.

"Come on, let's get going," she said with her mouth still intentionally full.

Sam's little jape made Bailey laugh. "Not the way your mother raised you," he said under his breath.

* * *

Bailey followed in Sam's footsteps as she confidently navigated her way around the Sander Institute. He had to admit that he was very curious, if a little skeptical, about the encounter with Wykoff. Would the psychic be able to convince him of his gift? Bailey still entertained his doubts, but he tried to keep an open mind. After all, Sam believed in the man's abilities.

They arrived at Wykoff's room, the door of which was closed. Sam knocked on the door, announced them and glanced at Bailey as they awaited a response. She was somewhat nervous; a lot was riding on how the meeting went. Above all, she hoped that Bailey would be as convinced as she was of Elliot's gift. For some reason, that seemed even more important than her friend actually allowing the man help in their pursuit of Jack.

They heard a faint "Come in" and entered the room, where Wykoff was sitting at the window. He stood up with a convivial expression and took a few steps toward the door to greet them. "I'm so pleased you were able to make it."

Sam took the lead and approached the man, leaving Bailey to close the door. "We were happy to come. How are you feeling, Elliot?"

"A little better than the last time. Thank you for asking," Wykoff replied and looked at Bailey with a courteous expression.

"Elliot, this is Bailey Malone. The friend doctor Simons told you about, " Sam introduced, faltering a little bit on the word 'friend'.

Wykoff considered the agent soberly. "Yes, I remember you. From when you came to my house after Diane had disappeared." He managed to side-step the pain thinking about Diane's death usually caused, helped by his need to convince Sam's friend.

Bailey assessed the man in front of him. Wykoff was skinnier than he had been over a year ago, which was a given, seeing what the man had been through. Bailey looked into the psychic's eyes, and his heart lurched. For a moment there, he thought he could spot a familiar look in the eyes – the remnants of a past that haunts the person. A look he'd caught upon Sam's face more than once.

He pushed his insight aside to greet the man. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, mr Wykoff."

Elliot waved off such formalities. "Call me Elliot. I assume Sam has told you about my offer."

"Yes, she has." Bailey was contemplating the fragile man thoughtfully, wondering if the man had the strength to help them.

Elliot guessed Bailey's train of thought. "But you think I wouldn't be able to help."

"Well, I remain... unconvinced about your gift," Bailey conceded. "I also know of your health troubles. Neither Sam nor I want to cause you a relapse or worse."

"I want to help you, whatever the cost. Surely you can see that," Wykoff pleaded.

"I believe in your sincerity, Elliot," Bailey uttered truthfully.

Elliot saw no other way of persuading the agent. "Would you give me your hand?"

Sam watched Bailey wrestle with the decision. He was afraid of harming the psychic in some way. He wouldn't hurt Elliot; whatever the psychic divined about him, it wouldn't cloud over the incredible inner strength she knew Bailey possessed. He didn't trust himself as she trusted him.

"Are you sure?" Bailey observed Elliot intently. After the psychic's nod, Sam excused herself from the room, not wanting to intrude on the upcoming moment.

Bailey's head whipped to her direction. "Sam, you don't have to go."

"You can tell me later, if you want to, Bail. I'll be right outside." With that, she opened the door and closed it softly, leaving the two men alone.

Elliot had gone to sit beside the window as Sam exited the room. Bailey pulled out the other chair and sat down opposite to Elliot. Bailey regarded the man and waited for him to unclasp his hands. Elliot extended his right hand to him. Then, Bailey offered his left hand, intrigued and worried at the same time.

Elliot gripped his hand tight, closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a few moments. "You loved spending time in your grandpa's restaurant," he breathed out with a fond laugh. "Your uncles taught you, too, but you always begged for your grandpa to teach you. That's what you like to reminisce from your childhood." He paused for a while. "Not your granddaddy from your dad's side," Elliot said in a more solemn voice.

"You never told anyone." Elliot looked him in the eyes, first loosening and then gripping his right hand. "But that has informed you all these years. That's why you take on so much responsibility for Jack."

Elliot tightened his hold on Bailey's hand, his gaze fleeting from Bailey to the door and then back to Bailey.

"You don't know. Not yet," Elliot whispered, then let go of Bailey's hand and clasped his hands together under his chin.

Bailey watched the man, taken aback by the sudden end of it all. He was worried about Wykoff's state of health, but as the man seemed to be in his senses, he let go of his anxiety and briefly mused the man's insights. What didn't he know yet? He had to admit that the psychic had been right about the things from his childhood. Things he'd never told anyone.

"Are you alright?"

Elliot nodded. "Yes. Will you let me help?" Elliot couldn't stop himself from asking the question.

"I don't have an answer right now. I'm sorry," Bailey sighed heavily.

Elliot accepted his reply with a somber smile. "Please come see me again."

"I will. Take care." The psychic nodded and watched in silence as he exited the room. Sam was standing in the hallway five feet away from Elliot's door. She took a few steps in his direction and searched his face.

"Well?"

"I need to think about this," was all he shared at this particular moment.

Sam looked somewhat relieved. "Okay. I'll go and say goodbye."

While Sam was in Elliot's room, Bailey pondered what had just transpired. He was relieved that their little session didn't seem to have damaged the man. Then again, he knew that allowing Wykoff to use his empathic reading on him was a far cry from the psychic trying to mine Jack's belongings for clues that would lead to the killer's capture. Therein lay the serious danger.

Sam and Bailey left the Institute, both lost in thought. Bailey was still reflecting on Wykoff's words, and Sam wanted to honour her promise and let him come to her when he was ready.

Elliot bid an affable goodbye to Sam. For the first time in a long while, Elliot was hopeful. Once the agent realised the true nature of his feelings for Sam, he would allow him to help. The man was her Diane. He would stop at nothing to save the woman he loved.

* * *

On Thursday, Sam was resting after the third trip to the zoo in less than two weeks. Chloe was composing an email to her grandparents, her head brimming with ideas on how to spend a week on their farm. Sam rubbed her sore feet without bothering to take off her socks. A nice massage or a pedicure would do wonders to her feet. Come to think of it, she could really go for a facial and a manicure, too. What was stopping her from doing that? After all, she was on vacation. Even better, she could make a night of it with her daughter and her friends.

Angel was in the kitchen, preparing a snack for all of them. "Angel, are you free Saturday night?" Sam enquired, not bothering to get up from the sofa.

"I think so. I haven't made plans with John. Why do you ask?"

"It's our last night together before Chlo leaves to Richmond for the week. Maybe we could all stay in, watch kids' movies, do beauty treatments and silly hair styles, that sort of thing." Sam strained her neck to see Angel better, trying to gauge the response her idea received.

Angel remembered the last time they'd hosted a party, which had been a sleepover for Chloe and her friends. "Are you angling to eat all the raw cookie dough again?"

Sam huffed, not really pissed off. "Sheesh, I didn't eat all of it, did I? Anyway, you interested?"

Angel considered the idea. "Sure, let's have a girls' night. It'll be fun."

"Good. I'm sure that if I look around, I'll find at least a dozen nail polish bottles we bought for Chloe's sleepover," Sam rolled her eyes for Angel's benefit.

"I bet you're right," Angel chuckled.

Then, another idea occurred to Sam. "Would you be okay with me inviting Frances, too? I still feel bad that I didn't extend the invitation to Chloe's recital to her."

Angel wasn't too surprised that Sam would want to include the girl, but she didn't mind the addition to their party. "It'd be absolutely fine."

"It's just that I think she must miss some of the girl stuff she must have done with her mom and sister when she lived in Baltimore," Sam elaborated, then wondered herself why she was putting so much emphasis on rationalising Frances' presence at their get-together.

"Sam, it's your party. You can invite anyone you like," Angel pointed out.

"Oh, I could also invite Grace." The pathologist would probably welcome the chance to engage in some girl talk and have a little break from diaper duty.

"Go ahead. The more, the merrier, is what I always say."

"You just want more unsuspecting victims for your scary stories."

"How did you guess?" Angel flashed an incorrigible grin.

* * *

Despite the short notice, both Grace and Frances were able to make it to Sam's girls' night in. They did manis and pedis, put cucumber slices on their eyes to Chloe's great delight and went through three packs of pink bubble gum. Grace indulged her inner hairdresser and created a wild braid hairstyle for Chloe. Sam snapped photos all evening long, and Angel, having frightened both Grace and Frances with her stories, was inspired to come up with the theme for her next exhibition: scary stories. She even quickly sketched the next piece she would create: a work that was half wolf, half apple.

Grace helped Chloe get ready for bed, and all that was required of Sam was the goodnight kiss. The women would keep their voices down so as to not disturb the girl. Frances would spend the night at Sam and Angel's, whilst Grace would later take a taxi home.

Grace, having drunk half of her sparkling wine, was feeling just the right amount of tipsy for some girl talk. "So, ladies. Now that the innocent child has left the building, let's have some dish! What's going on in your love lives?"

"Well, I'll go first. It's non-existent. I'm just counting my days until college," Frances confided.

"You're young, there's no rush. Also, and if your dad asks me about this I'll deny all of this, you need to sow your wild oats! Responsibly, of course, but don't forget to have fun now and again," Grace winked at Frances.

"I'll do my best," Frances laughed.

"And how about you grown ladies? Angel?" Grace cast a hopeful look upon them.

"Ah, well, I'm back together with John," the artist announced to Grace and Frances' big surprise. The pathologst gasped and took a few moments to get over her shock. Frances said nothing, but eyed Angel with a great deal of interest. Then, she realised that Sam had shot her a brief look, and she tried to cover her blush by occupying herself with her nails. Neither Frances nor Sam had forgotten the young woman's stunt on the eve of her eighteenth birthday.

"You sly things! I had no idea," Grace said in a peeved tone. "How long have you been together?"

"Just about two months."

"She didn't tell even me until after they'd started dating again," Sam remarked. "They've kept a low profile."

"We're just having fun and seeing where that takes us," Angel defended her lies of omission.

"Sam? What's going on with you?"

Angel took a more comfortable position on the sofa, suspecting that she would enjoy Sam being under fire from someone else for a change. Frances dropped the act of finding her nails endlessly fascinating and observed her dad's friend closely.

Sam stalled her answer, taking a sip of her white wine before making a face. "Nothing much."

"So what happened to your guy from the gala?"

Sam shrugged to hide her fidgeting. "He was a nice enough guy, but... I could tell that it wouldn't go anywhere. We never went on a second date."

"Aw, that's too bad," Grace commiserated before looking at Sam with barely contained excitement. "We need to set you up with a guy! Angel, do you know anyone?" Grace and Frances were oblivious to Sam's pleading look that she directed at Angel, imploring her to keep mum on the events that had happened two weeks ago.

Angel struggled to not look like the cat who'd eaten a canary. "Well, I did have someone in mind, but Sam wouldn't hear of it. She's very impervious, you see," Angel said with a meaningful glance at Sam, who now avoided her best friend's gaze studiously for fear of blushing.

"Would I know anyone who's available?" Grace turned silent, running through her acquaintances in her mind. "I came up with two, but they'd be all wrong for you. Keith's an adrenaline junkie, and Raymond, bless his heart, doesn't really have a sense of humour," she mused out loud.

Then, Grace's eyes happened to land on Frances, who'd listened to Grace cajoling her friend in silence, curious to see Sam's reactions. Right now, Sam looked a little perturbed, and she was about to sip her wine.

Grace's eyes lit up. "I know! What about your dad?" Sam nearly choked on her beverage. Grace's back was turned to her friend, and so she missed her reaction. Angel smiled broadly and hit Sam's back a few times, before Sam scooted down and swatted her hands away. Frances observed the best friends and their nonverbal communication as she stalled in her reply.

"Surely your dad knows a few nice guys?" Grace amended her enquiry. Sam's first emotion was relief, but then she grew uneasy. The last thing she wanted was to put Bailey in a position of being her matchmaker. It would be utterly mortifying, on so many levels and for so many reasons.

Frances, who had her own ideas about whom Sam could and should be dating, tried to evade the question. "I don't know... I haven't really met any guy friends my dad might have. He's a workaholic, and what little spare time he has, he spends it with me or with Sam and Chloe."

Grace looked disappointed. "So he hasn't got any friends suitable for Sam? Maybe I ought to ask him."

"No! No, Grace." Sam hastened to mellow out the urgent edge of her words. "I mean, I'm perfectly happy with how things are now. I'm not looking for anyone. At all," she stressed, watching Grace's face closely to see whether or not her friend would let the matter lie. What she witnessed mollified her apprehensions. Grace seemed to accept her reply, albeit somewhat begrudgingly.

"You see? Too damn impervious for her own good." Angel's good-natured sigh ended the discussion, much to Sam's relief.

* * *

Early Sunday morning, the coffee was brewing and Sam was in the middle of correcting the smudged nail polish on her right big toe when the elevator whirred into action. Angel had taken Denzel off to John's just twenty minutes before, so Sam knew that someone else was visiting. It could only be Bailey, since the visitor had entered without ringing the doorbell on the street.

She had a toe separator on her right foot and the polish hadn't set yet, so she had to hop to the elevator to let him in. She had to focus, since she was hopping on her left foot. It was surprisingly strenuous to reach her destination. She would limp her way back.

She opened the inner door just as Bailey was sliding the cage door. "Hey!" she greeted him sunnily and took in his clothes, looking for clues as to his reason for such an early visit. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a black sweater. A casual visit, then.

"Morning, Sam," he wished her. He was relieved to see he hadn't woken her up: she was dressed in purple slacks, a white top and a white hoodie.

"Come on in. The girls are still sleeping," she welcomed him inside with a wave and started to limp her way to the kitchen.

His question halted her progress. "Sam, you okay?"

"Yeah, just fixing nail polish on my toes," she explained, turned to him and extended her right leg.

He looked at the sight, fighting the instinct to chuckle. "Oh. Right."

She arched her eyebrows at him, having realised his amusement. Then, she turned around and advanced towards the kitchen. "Would you care for some coffee?"

"Thanks," he responded and followed in her footsteps. She cleared the kitchen table, taking her pedicure kit to the bathroom. In the mean time, Bailey helped himself and took out two mugs for the coffee. He was pouring the hot beverage when she meandered up to him. He offered her a mug and poured another for himself. They settled to sit around the table.

"So, to what do I owe this impromptu visit?" Sam asked after she'd sipped the java and found it to be still too hot.

"Oh, I've already been up for three hours. I went on a jog, and then... What can I say, I got bored," he shrugged.

She gazed at him with a stupefied expression. "Three hours? It's barely nine o'clock, yet!"

He just gave her a "what can you do?" shrug.

Sam shook her head fondly. "One of these days, I hope you discover the joy of late mornings. I can't imagine what torture it'll be to wake up for work tomorrow morning," she joked.

"So I take it that you enjoyed your vacation?"

"Yup, I've had fun, all in all. When are you going to have your vacation?" she needled him.

"In a few months." Bailey enjoyed Sam's stunned expression.

"Wow, that soon? You sure you're up to it?" Sam teased.

Bailey rolled his eyes. "Frances was over the moon when I confirmed it to her."

"Speaking of Frances, last night we got to talking about her college studies, and I had an idea. When I was studying at Emory, they would give these lectures, seminars and workshops..."

He cut off her explanation with a mischievous smile. "Really, lectures and seminars? At a college? Tell me more," he gazed at her, feigning being utterly fascinated.

She looked bemused for a while, then cocked her head. "Have you had your fun?" His expression broke into a grin, and she had to focus on gathering her thoughts for a moment. "As I was saying, the faculties at Emory would sometimes give lectures for free, open to anyone. I mentioned them to Frances, and I'm about to call up Melinda anyway, so I could ask her to check if there are any lectures during the summer. You up for a little road trip, if that's the case?"

"Yeah, sign me up."

"Oh, Frances made a blitz attack on my kitchen last night and baked some delicious blueberry muffins. I have a few left, if you'd like one?"

"Why not?" Bailey watched in amusement as Sam waddled to the fridge to retrieve a plastic containing three muffins. He was able to keep a straight face when Sam returned and offered him the baked good. He took a bite, and found it delicious.

She inspected her big toe again, carefully touching the surface of the nail. It was dry, so she took off the separator and excused herself to restore the item into her pedicure kit. She ambled to her room, where her eyes landed on the poetry books she'd borrowed from Bailey. Might as well return them now. She would need to go and buy some poetry collections by e. e. cummings for herself.

"Here you go. Thanks for borrowing them to me," she handed him the books.

"My pleasure. What time are you taking Chloe to her grandparents?"

"The flight's at two. I'll be back at ten in the evening."

"How was Charles' party?"

Sam made a face. "It was fine. Charles was as easy-going as always, but Helen likes to grind an axe. Hopefully, it will blow over eventually."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate Chloe spending a week with them." Bailey had just finished his sentence when they heard a delighted squeal: "Uncle Bailey!" The adults turned their heads to see Chloe scurrying to Bailey.

He scooped the little girl into his lap without preamble. "Good morning, Chloe."

"Morning! Why are you here?" Chloe asked, rubbing the sleepiness out of her eyes.

"Well, I woke really early today, and I wasn't doing anything, so I decided to come and visit you silly girls."

"I'm so happy you're here. Come meet Giselle and Gaby!"

"Who?"

"They're the latest additions to Chloe's toy collection," Sam explained.

"What are we waiting for?" He stood up with Chloe in his arms, and he maneuvered the little girl so that she was laying sideways in his arms, her head and feet dangling from each side. Chloe released a thrilled giggle.

Once in the girl's room, Bailey put her on the floor, and she flew to sit on her bed. She grabbed the ballerina bear and the baby giraffe from her gaggle of toys beside her pillow and waited for him to sit down on the bed. Then, she began her story.

"This is Giselle. You gave her to me, remember? She lived in the forest with her mommy and brother, and she always loved to dance ballet. So when she heard of a dance school far away in town, her whole family gathered lots of honey, which she could use as payment for lessons. She left her home to study ballet when she was two years old, and her mommy and brother come by to watch her every performance. She lives with me, and I can go watch her dance, too."

"I see."

"And this is Gaby. Mom brought her from Chicago. She wants to be an astronomer, the first giraffe astronomer ever. When she grows up, she'll have a very long neck, and she decided to put that to good use. She thinks that she'll be able to reach the stars when she's all grown up, and I haven't had the heart to tell her the truth yet."

"Maybe you can tell her and try to help her see the bright side. She may not reach the stars, but she can see and appreciate them all the same. Then, she can tell her kind about galaxies, constellations and light years. She'll be a trail blazer."

Chloe took comfort in his words. "Okay, I'll tell her soon."

"Are Giselle or Gaby hungry by any chance? Will they join you for breakfast?"

"No, they don't eat cereal! Giselle eats honey, and Gaby eats acacia tree leaves."

Bailey struggled to hide his smile. Chloe was endearingly devoted to some facts of animal life, while others she was willing to blithely overlook. "Ah, okay."

Sam took a few steps back, withdrawing slowly from the vicinity of Chloe's bedroom. She'd crept up to hear her daughter chatting with Bailey, curious about what Chloe would tell about her toy friends. The girl's stories had been happy ones. A stark contrast to the sorrowful yarn about Pandy she'd shared with Sam year and a half ago in the task force. Sam marveled at the change, wondering if this signified a turn to a happier mindset in her daughter.

Sam turned around to see Frances three feet from her. Sam hadn't heard the younger woman's approach, but she was able to hold back her gasp of surprise.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Frances whispered, mindful of the discussion going on in Chloe's bedroom.

"It's fine," Sam alleviated Frances' recriminations. "I'm just jumpy sometimes."

Frances contemplated her hostess, discerning that she looked moved by something. "You okay?"

Sam put her hand on Frances' left shoulder, turning her around and heading to the kitchen. "Yeah, it's nothing. Really. What would you like to eat?"

"Do you have some yoghurt and muesli?"

"We sure do. Please, sit down." Sam worked quickly to set the table for her guest and her daughter. Frances started on her breakfast, and Sam called out to Chloe, but heard nothing in reply. She called out a second time, and after exchanging curious glances with Frances, she saw no other recourse than to go fetch the girl in person.

Sam was six feet from the room when she could hear Chloe giggling in a muted way, like the girl was trying to keep herself from doing so. "Chlo?" Sam entered the doorway and realised right away what was delighting her daughter. Chloe was hiding out under the rumpled covers, hoping to go undetected, whilst Bailey was doubled over on the floor by the far side of the bed, essentially hiding out in plain sight.

Sam shook her head and bit back her own laughter. Then, she played along: "Chloe? Bailey? Where did you go? I could've have sworn I saw them heading in here. Huh," she feigned to be befuddled. Sam's wonderment produced a new bout of giggles, which she pretended to not hear.

"Too bad Denzel isn't here. He would find them in no time. Hey Frances, you haven't seen Chloe or Bailey, have you?" Sam turned in the doorway, making sure Frances could see her shaking her head and mouthing "Say no".

Luckily, Frances caught on to the ploy. "No, I haven't. Oh no, are they missing?" She stood up and walked up to Sam. She smiled when she saw the scene.

"I think so," Sam sighed, sounding worried. She winked at Frances. "I'm getting really worried. I have to lie down on Chloe's bed for a while," she announced.

She hadn't taken two steps before Chloe had thrown off her blanket, laughing: "We're right here! She didn't find us, Uncle Bailey!" Chloe fell down on the bed, rolling on it in her enjoyment.

"Oh my, there you are, Chloe! And Bailey," she shot a knowing look at the man who emerged to sit straight beside the bed. "How did I not see you there?" The adults shared a wry smile.

"Chloe, honey, there's cereal for you in the kitchen. Calm down and go eat, okay?"

"Okay!" Chloe shot off the bed like a bullet and scampered to the kitchen, following Frances.

Sam eyed Bailey cheerfully as he stood upright, straightening Chloe's blanket a little along the way. Then, he just shrugged his shoulders and smiled conspiratorially. "She put me up to it."

"Really? Somehow, I get the feeling that it was a joint endeavour," she shot back. "Come on, let's join the girls before you get up to no good again." She waited by the door for him. He closed in on her, his eyes dancing with mirth. Her heart fluttered for a thousandth of a second before it got back on track. She breathed deeply and chalked up the missed heartbeat to the strong batch of coffee she'd been drinking.

An hour later, Bailey and Frances were making their way out so Sam and Chloe could get ready for the flight and for the girl's stay in Richmond. Bailey scooped up the little girl to wish her a pleasant vacation and to make her swear to be very careful when she was around horses.

Frances said goodbye to Sam. "Thank you for having me. I had a ball," she remarked and decided to hug the hostess. When she broke stepped back from the hug, she quickly assessed the reaction her gesture had gotten, devoting more time to evaluating her dad's expression. Sam looked surprised and touched by the hug. Her dad looked proud and moved. To her disappointment, she couldn't tell more. She would have to observe her dad more in the future. Maybe even drop subtle hints.

The Malones left soon thereafter, leaving Sam and Chloe picking and packing the choice toys the girl didn't have the heart to part from for a week. After the toys had been weeded out, Sam was on her own for the rest of the packing process.

As much as she would miss her baby girl next week, Sam was also looking forward to going back to work. That was the perfect proof of a vacation well spent, she mused.

She was happy that things were back to normal between Bailey and herself. This morning had been proof of that.

The reason why she'd been nervous to see Bailey on Tuesday dawned on her, several days later, now that they were heading back to their usual rapport. She'd been on guard because she hadn't been sure how she felt about him. Because she'd been unconsciously wondering, assessing, if she wanted to kiss him again.

She found that the answer was almost certainly no. It had been a one-time thing, like they'd both suspected two weeks ago.

They could get back to normal.

Perhaps now she'd stop missing _them_.

Maybe, just maybe, she'd stop missing _their relationship._


	7. The Fiction of Indifference

(Thanks to demonchilde!)

**THE FICTION OF INDIFFERENCE**

Bailey looked up from the papers on his desk when he heard a knock on the door. Sam was smiling at him all across the room, framed by her light blue trench and dark brown pant suit. "Hey, boss. I'm back," she greeted him brightly.

"So nice that you could tear yourself away from your bed," he drawled, reminded of what she'd confessed about her sleeping habits during her vacation.

"It was brutal, but I kept my head down and powered through," she countered cheerfully. "So, will you bring me up to speed, or are you too busy?"

"I've arranged a small pow-wow with George for us in a half an hour."

"Okay, I'm gonna go kick my heels up until then. Just kidding." She wandered off, waving at and greeting her coworkers on the short way to her office. He watched her progress until she'd passed his windows. He was glad she was back, and above all, he was happy that they'd returned to their normal, easy way of being when in one another's company. Yesterday morning had been proof of that.

Now that she was back, they'd have to make a decision about Wykoff soon. He'd accepted that the psychic wasn't faking his gift; the insights the man had had into his past couldn't have been dug up anywhere.

Bailey was nowhere nearer to knowing what Wykoff had meant with his cryptic ending words. _"You don't know. Not yet." _Had he been so distracted by the revelatory intuitions of the psychic that he'd missed something? Something that might explain the meaning of the words? He'd run the session over in his head dozens of times, but he was none the wiser for them.

Anyway, he and Sam would need to confer about the psychic soon, and start to think of ways of keeping the man safe and sound. Would Wykoff move somewhere, now that he was no longer catatonic? Would the Institute keep him there? Bailey doubted that the duties of a nursing home would fall into the purview of the establishment.

He took a look at his watch. He'd been, for a lack of a better word, daydreaming for ten minutes now. He really needed to pull it together. He couldn't afford to let a second preoccupation take over for the first one, now that he'd given up that ghost.

* * *

Sam pushed open the door to her office and flicked on the lights. Everything was how she'd left it two weeks ago. She'd been slightly worried that John and Marcus might get another bright idea and tease her again, but that worry had now proved unnecessary. She shook off her trench coat, flung it haphazardly on the sofa opposite her desk and sat down on her chair, getting acclimated to her surroundings. She tuned the radio to a classical station and spent a few minutes just staring at her co-workers walking this way and that beyond the window.

She spied Grace walking up to John and talking to him for a moment, then handing over a file. Grace glanced at Bailey's office, then looked back at John. Sam grew anxious that maybe Grace didn't intend to leave her friend's non-existent love life alone that easily. The well-meaning medical examiner could go to Bailey even though she'd made, if not a promise, then at least an indication to the contrary. Sam would have to keep a close eye on Grace this week.

And it seemed like she'd have a chance to take her friend's temperature, so to speak, as Grace spied her sitting in her office and headed directly to her office.

"Hey Sam, so nice to have you back," Grace greeted her amicably.

"Nice to be back," she smiled in return. "What were you talking to John about?"`

"He'd asked me a few things on gun powder residue, and I got back to him."

"Ah."

Grace took a few steps to the door. "I gotta run. Jerzy wanted my opinion on a fingerprint thing. How about lunch?"

"I'd love to, if our schedules jive."

"Okay, talk to you later."

"Yeah." Grace was out of the door in an instant and walked past Sam's window. Sam relaxed a bit, now more convinced that her love life wasn't at the fore front of her friend's thoughts. She reached for the upmost file on a stack sitting on her desk and got to work.

* * *

"Hey! How was it? Your first day back?" Angel asked cheerfully from Sam, who'd put in a full day and had even managed to attend the women's exercise class again. She was just arriving home.

"It was fine," Sam replied and plopped her gym bag on the dining table. "No case seems to be on the verge of breaking, so that's a bit frustrating. How was your day? Were you able to flesh out your scary story ideas?"

Angel clicked her tongue. "I had a few good moments, but on the whole, the big inspiration eluded me."

"Maybe you could talk to your Hoffen House kids about it, see if that helps," Sam suggested, referring to the group of at-risk kids Angel had been teaching for more than a year.

"That's a good idea. Thanks. I was thinking of rummaging through Chloe's stacks of books."

"If you do and I'm not around, if you come across The Chronicles of Narnia, handle them with care. They belonged to Tom, and I finally managed to get Helen's permission to have Chlo read them."

"Don't worry, I will. Have you called Chloe yet?"

"No, not yet. I promised to call every night at eight. Are they any muffins left, the ones that Frances baked? I'm starving."

"I think there's one left. It's in the fridge. What about your gym clothes?" Angel chuckled when Sam made a beeline to the kitchen.

Sam waved off Angel's concerns. "They can wait five minutes." Sam zeroed in on the lone muffin and didn't even bother to close the fridge door before taking her first bite.

"You know we have apples and bananas," Angel pointed out.

"Far too sensible," Sam scrunched her nose, closed the fridge door and stood in her spot, munching on her greasy treat.

"Didn't you have time to eat at the task force?"

"I did, but that was four hours ago. I didn't want to eat anything before the class."

Angel nodded her head a couple of times. "Ah. So. How was everyone at work?"

"What do you mean?" Sam shot her friend a piercing look.

"I know you, Sam. Don't tell me you didn't keep tabs on Grace, afraid that she'd blurt out something to Bailey, after all."

"I might have," Sam muttered before getting defensive: "So what if I did? Didn't I have a good reason?"

Angel adopted a nonchalant tone. "I'm not denying that you didn't. I was just curious."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna go put the laundry on. Do you have anything you want washed?"

So Sam was playing the evasive game. Angel decided to let it pass. "Nah, I'm good." While Sam was at her task, Angel amused herself with reminiscing Sam's reaction to Grace's unnervingly uncanny question. The pathologist had really hit the nail on the head.

Angel was disappointed that she'd missed Bailey's presence at the house yesterday. She would have welcomed the opportunity to observe the pair. To gauge for herself how they might truly feel. Right now, she was just running with what she could pull out of Sam, which wasn't a whole lot to go on.

* * *

On Tuesday night, Bailey was leafing through the poetry book by cummings that Sam had given to him on Sunday. He was looking for the poem the few stanzas of which had floated to him a couple of weeks ago. He was reading the collection in order, coming across now and again poems that Sam had marked with a bent corner. He didn't mind Sam's high-handedness; she'd chosen riveting poems. And it was fun knowing which poems had touched her.

His concentration was shaken when he heard Frances' voice."Dad? Here's an email from Ari that I printed. She jotted down a list of what she'd like to do here. Read it and tell me what you think."

Bailey took the printout that his daughter was offering him and started to skim it. He made it two paragraphs down before he found himself puzzled by some things in the email.

"Sweetheart, can you come here for a sec?" He pointed out a few groupings of capital letters and of characters that he couldn't make out. "What do these mean?"

Frances leaned over her dad's shoulder and looked at the sections he was indicating. "Oh, they're email speak, if you will. 'VBG' means 'very big grin', 'LOL' means 'laughing out loud' and that one is a smiley face."

"A smiley face?" Bailey repeated.

"Yeah, you know. A smiling face in writing. Here, look." She grabbed the paper and turned it on its side so her dad could see the icon more clearly. "See?"

Bailey inspected the icon. "Okay, I guess. Why not just write them out in letters?"

"Well, they save time. Who can be bothered to write 'rolling on the floor laughing' when 'ROTFL' takes care of it?"

"Who indeed?" Bailey shook his head and got back to reading the suggestions of his younger daughter. Arianna wanted to go to Six Flags, see the prestigious Buckhead neighbourhood and visit the Olympic park as well as the town of Helen. They could and should make a day trip out of the visit to Helen, start early and spend the day in the Bavarian town, then return in the evening. Depending on which day they'd venture out, they could invite Sam and Chloe along. That would be nice.

* * *

Just as Frances was teaching her dad about the intricacies of the exciting realm of the world wide web, Sam was dialling Melinda's number, to set up an appointment as well as to check if there were any free lectures or seminars coming up at Emory.

"Melinda Gillespie."

"Hi Melinda, it's Sam."

"Hello, Sam. It's always so good to hear from you. How have you been?"

"I've been well. Really busy with work, but I did have a two weeks' vacation, so I can't complain. What about you?"

"I'm just enjoying a breather from course work, and putting the final touches to a research paper."

"Really? You'll have to tell me more. That's actually one of the reasons why I called. Would you have time for a session some time soon?"

"For you, anything. But I'll have to get back to you on the time. I left my calendar in my office today."

"Thanks, call me anytime. There was one other thing I wanted to ask. Does Emory still host those free lectures that are open to anyone during the summer?"

"Oh, you mean those joint psychology and sociology seminars? Those were funded by a professorship that expired two years ago. Sorry. Why did you ask?"

"Bailey's daughter is thinking of studying psychology. I told her about the seminars."

"Is she thinking of coming to Emory?"

"No, she's applied to Macon state college, but I thought the seminar could be a fun way for her to wade into the field for a day or two. See if it seems like something she'd enjoy studying in the long run. Ah well, I'll have to tell her the bad news."

"As I said, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. You know, if this wraps it up, I'm going to beg for your forgiveness and get back to my research paper. I'm in the middle of a very profilic hour or so."

"By all means, go write! I'll talk to you later."

"Of course. Bye, Sam."

Aftter Sam's response, her old mentor and friend hung up. Melinda had made a very respectable career in academia, publishing several well-reviewed studies over the years. Melinda had tried to encourage Sam to follow in her footsteps, but the protege had resolutely declined, having found a way to fulfill herself as an agent.

Now that a session with Melinda was fast approaching, Sam knew she had to contemplate the topic her friend had brought up in their last encounter. Her similarities with Wykoff, both personal and professional.

She considered the facet that floated to her first: his worsening condition, and his lapse into catatonia when she herself had nearly been at the end of her rope. Like she'd confessed to Melinda, she'd pulled through her brush with burnout bit by bit, with Bailey's unrelenting, quiet support.

Now, though, Wykoff wouldn't likely get a second chance. Didn't appear to even want one. That twisted at her heart, but she estimated that the man's mind was as good as made. Even making treatment a condition of him being allowed to chip in wouldn't get Wykoff to change his mind.

In a way, she knew that to be the case. Wykoff wanted to help them. For their good as much as his own. She knew from experience that by helping others, you also helped yourself. That was one of the reasons she'd become an active agent again. To help herself to heal.

They were like minds; determined to aid others, even if that came at a great cost. Their work had forced great losses and sacrifices upon them. Yet, they kept at it. Kept trying to alleviate, prevent someone else's suffering.

Sam's mood darkened when her thoughts turned to their tormentors, Jack and Hollister. She wondered how a human being to turn out so utterly twisted and soulless. Wykoff had the additional burden of having to come to terms with the fact that he'd been betrayed by his sole remaining friend. Someone he had trusted and had come to rely on. Someone he and Diane had included in their lives. In a way, her lot was easier, if there ever could be such a concept.

Being able to confirm to Elliot that Hollister was rotting away in prison had brought her some manner of serenity. Elliot probably wanted the same sensation before he passed away. Some reassurance that he'd see her off happier, at peace.

She wondered, not for the first time, what Elliot had divined about Bailey. And when would he tell her?

* * *

Bailey slid in through the double doors of the courtroom 8B and took a seat in the back row. He surveyed the people sitting in the rows ahead, trying to see where Bohanon was seated with his public defender. He'd called in a favor from the district attorney's office to be kept in the loop when Bohanon's court date would be. He already knew that a plea bargain had been reached outside of court, so there wouldn't be any surprises to look out for. He'd felt compelled to be here, to achieve a kind of closure with the fate of his former gun. Close a part of that chapter of his life. Hopefully, in a few months, he and Frannie would put the unfortunate part of their relationship to rest.

There was no specific time for the arraignment, and so he'd rationalised that he would spend his lunch break at the court house. Still, after he'd waited for 40 minutes, he started getting anxious. He would need to start heading back soon. He looked at Bohanon who was sitting at the left end of the second row. Bohanon chewed on his nails and kept his head down.

Bailey didn't notice Sam sidling up to sit beside him until she'd invaded the personal space complete strangers had the decency to abide by. He turned his head to see her concerned, reproachful and expectant gaze.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" A hint of amusement seeped through in Sam's whisper. Her face blossomed into a full grin when she realized he was speechless.

Right then, Bohanon's case was called, and they focused on the proceedings. Sam's hand found his, and they listened to the proceedings in silence. She squeezed his hand when the judge approved the plea bargain. Bohanon was taken into custody by the bailiff.

Bailey and Sam exited the court room in silence.

Once outside, Sam asked: "So, feel better?"

He took a beat to consider his reply. "I think so. How did you know?"

She flashed him a grin. "You're not the only one with connections."

He arched his eyebrows, amused. Then, he sobered up. "Thanks for coming."

She cocked her head. "Sure."

* * *

"Hey. You got a sec?" Bailey peered in through the open door of Sam's office. The workday was winding down to its final hours.

"Sure. What's up?" she asked, seeing Bailey close the door.

"I wanted to discuss Wykoff." As he walked over to the sofa, she put down the case file and waited, hoping, anticipating, that he'd reveal what the psychic had divined about him.

"Shoot," she encouraged him.

"I'm inclined to let him help in the investigation. But only if we provide for him and his safety," he voiced his conditions. He was apparently thinking of having the Bureau foot the bill for Elliot's upkeep.

She flashed a pleased grin. "Way ahead of you, Bail. I've already set aside a hefty sum for his everyday needs and protection. But..." she trailed off, as she hoped that he'd guess her next suggestion.

Bailey caught on quick. "But we need to keep him absolutely safe, and you want to go through Casper."

She loved how well he knew her. ""Exactly. Do you think this is something he'd be able to arrange?"

"I'm sure he knows someone who'd be suited for our needs."

"It might be a tall order," she fretted.

"Casper'll come through," he reassured her, and she nodded.

The official plan was now in place, and they lapsed into a brief silence. She was expecting him to share Wykoff's insights with her. For his part, he realized her wish, and considered telling her right then and there, but couldn't make himself do it. He still hadn't come to terms with the fact himself, and the setting and timing seemed wrong, somehow. He shot her an apologetic look.

Sam realized with a jolt that her wish was in vain. He wasn't about to tell her. She forced down her urge to wheedle the information out of him. For some reason, it shook her to know that there was something he wasn't willing to share with her. She checked herself, ashamed. Why should he share every facet of his life with her? She couldn't pinpoint the reason readily, and so she brushed it aside.

Bailey looked on as Sam fought back her need to know and made her peace with his reticence. Right then, he knew that his telling her wasn't a matter of it; it was a matter of when. It dawned on him that it had always been a matter of when. Long before Wykoff had ever had knowledge of it.

He changed the subject. "How's Chloe?"

"She's good. She's enjoying her stay." Sam gave a small smile.

"No crying fits this time?"

"Surprisingly, none. Don't know if that's supposed to make me feel better or worse," she made a self-deprecating face.

Bailey knew where she was coming from. "I know how that goes. Give her my love when you talk to her."

"I will."

He glanced at his watch, then stood up. "I've gotta get back to work. Talk to you before you go home?"

"Nope, sorry. I've used up my talking quota for the day," she quipped.

He'd been advancing on the door, but now he turned aound. "And if I bring you coffee and chocolate?"

She picked up her mug. "You just used the magic words. Permission granted."

He shook his head fondly. "You drive a hard bargain."

"But I'm worth it," she smiled mischieviously.

"Uh huh." He responded to her smile before exiting her office.

* * *

Frances was standing at the oven, peering into the heat to see how her carrot cake was coming along. Another five minutes would do the trick. She hummed to the music, and a few dance steps took her to the sink where there were dishes waiting to be rinsed and placed into the dishwasher. She smiled when she heard the click of the garage door. Her dad was home.

"Hey! How was your day?" she greeted her dad.

Bailey took in the scene in front of him before answering. He was in for a delectable dessert. "Ah, it was fine. How about yours?"

"Just studying. I went for a walk in the park during my skip hour," she shrugged. "That's when I decided to bake this baby." Her mirth died when she caught glimpse of his expression.

"What is it? That's your serious face," she prodded.

"I went to Bohanon's hearing today. The judge approved the deal. He'll serve a minimum of two years," he informed his daughter, peering at her closely to see how she took the news.

She looked like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She gave a small nod. "Whew. Good." She looked out the window, reminiscing for a small moment her weeks with the young man and how her story might have had a similar ending, had it not been for her dad and his love for her. She was very lucky – something she would never take for granted again.

He stepped closer to her. "You okay?"

Her head whipped to the side to look at him. "Of course. Thanks for letting me know."

* * *

Sam approached the stables situated at the side of Helen and Charles' main estate. Their farm was massive, with plenty of woods and fields where they could practice their horses. She'd arrived ten minutes ago and had ambled up to the main house to ring the doorbell, to no avail. She guessed that her daughter and her former in-laws would be seeing to the horses, and so she'd headed to the stables.

As she walked along the main corridor, she heard Chloe's laughter emanating from the office at the back of the premises. Finally reaching the office, she knocked and opened the door to find Chloe sitting on Charles' lap at the desk, studying pedigrees of the horses the Waters' family had been breeding for three generations.

The little girl looked up when the door opened, and her face lit up. "Mommy! " She sprang off her grandpa's lap and flew to her mom.

"Hey, baby girl, how are you?" Sam scooped the girl up and blew kisses into her hair. "Hi," she greeted Charles.

"Hello, Sam. Nice to see you again." Charles stood up from behind the desk.

"You, too. Did my little rascal behave herself this week?"

"She's been a joy, as always."

Sam set Chloe down, and the girl started dragging her mom by the hand, wishing to exit the office. "Mom, come see Bourbon again. He's gotten so big!"

"Okay, hold onto your horses, missy. Where's Helen? I thought she'd be here, too."

"She went to lie down an hour ago. Chloe, why don't you go get your grandma, and then we'll all go see Bourbon together. He's in one of the pens,"Charles added by way of explanation.

"Okay!" Chloe turned around and made a swift exit.

"No running, sweetie!" Charles yelled after her, and they could hear the girl ceasing to run. Sam shared a good-natured smile with Charles.

"Thank you for letting her stay here," he said, sounding very grateful. Sam didn't have to guess why.

"Sure. Have you taken her to the grave?" Sam asked a little unsurely, out of politeness. She knew that Tom's parents hadn't been to the grave since the burial, but some things had to asked out of manners and consideration.

Charles just shook his head, and Sam nodded hers.

"Have you talked about him?"

"A little. Not a lot." Charles' voice began to choke up, and Sam abandoned the topic. She didn't want to upset him more than he already was.

"Let's go outside. I'm dying to meet Bourbon," she offered him a hint of an upbeat smile.

* * *

The flowers in the grave yard were in full bloom; the grass was lush and verdant. The pebbled pathways through the rows of graves were freshly kept, and the tomb stones shone with muted light.

Thomas Jeffrey Waters

2.12.1959 – 6.30.1993

Sam and Chloe were standing in front of the grave, gazing at it in silence. Sam looked at her somber daughter. Chloe seemed to keep her gaze fixed on the flowers they'd brought to the grave. She kicked at the grass and fidgeted a little.

Sam drew Chloe to her side and began a story that had come to her.

"Did I ever tell you that ever since your daddy and I found out we would have a baby, he was convinced that we'd have a girl? Nothing on this earth could make him think for even a second that you might be a boy. He always referred to you as a she, and whenever we were in stores, he always made a beeline to the section for babygirls. Once, before you were born, he came home with a huge stuffed toy horse. When I asked him what it was for, he said that he'd just wanted to buy it and that you could perhaps sleep on it when you got older."

Chloe's brow furrowed. "Did I sleep on it?"

"Once or twice when you were two, as I recall, before your daddy admitted to his judgment of error."

Chloe giggled a little, then looked at the tomb stone again.

Sam's heart broke a little, for the hundredth time, when she thought of all the things Tom would miss out on.

"He loved you more than anything, Chlo. Always know that."

* * *

Next day, Bailey checked his watch for the fifth time in the past hour. The time was drawing near. The painful memory hung heavy for him. He couldn't wait any longer. He didn't want to wait. He dialled George's extension.

"Command center, Fraley."

"It's Bailey. Hold any and all calls for me during the next hour. I'm not here," he stressed to the resident computer whiz, hoping that the man would get the hint.

"Sure," was all George replied. He knew that neither the boss nor the profiler were to be disturbed.

"Thanks." Bailey hung up, sprang up from his chair and headed to Sam's office, keeping his eyes straight ahead so as to not attract anyone's attention. He rapped gently on the door, then pushed it open and looked inside Sam's office. She was sitting on the sofa, her feet gathered underneath her. A mug full of coffee sat on the desk, neglected and cold. The office was dimly lit; she'd drawn the blinds, and the only light in the room shone from the desk lamp.

She shot an apprehensive look at him, but her eyes melted when she realised that he was the intruder. He closed the door, deciding to lock it; Sam didn't look like she'd want more company. Then, he ambled to the sofa and sat down next to her. She gave him a sorrowful smile and kept silent.

Sam stared straight ahead, not really seeing anything. But that wasn't because of the darkness. She wrung her hands, drew the sleeves over her hands, then pushed the sleeves up, fidgeted. Anything to keep her body even remotely busy; no such luck with her thoughts. At the moment, she was back in Quantico, blissfully unaware of how her life would shatter apart in six minutes. Five years ago.

Bailey kept his distance for as long as he could, waiting for her. He could feel her emotions ramp up, agitation start to consume her. He lasted two minutes before he had to act. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulder, keeping the touch light. Signaling his willingness to share her pain, to comfort her.

His hand hadn't been on her shoulder for five seconds before she accepted his offer. She turned to him and leant against his side, resting her head agaist his chest and wrapping her right hand around him. He kept his arm around her, and together they settled into a comfortable position. They listened to the muffled sounds and voices of the work being done in the task force premises.

They stayed like that for 37 minutes; the same amount of time that had passed from the gruesome act and the alerting phone call to the moment when he'd gently coaxed her away from Tom's dead body.

At the end, Bailey broke their embrace to reach for Sam's phone on the sofa table. He offered the item to her, who dialled her home number. He listened to her end of the conversation with Chloe. His friend talked to her daughter for a few minutes.

When Sam had hung up, Bailey remarked: "You could have stayed at home, if you wanted to."

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "Thanks, but what would I have done at home? Just counted the minutes? Better to even try to keep busy. Not that I've been successful," she chuckled, sounding self-reproachful. Her efforts had dwindled throughout the day; as the time drew ever nearer, her concentration lagged ever more.

"Well, if you want to leave early, you can." He squeezed her shoulder and stood up. "I'd better get back to work." His tone of voice was asking if she was okay.

She sighed and nodded, gave him a tiny smile. He turned around to exit her office. He'd taken a few steps when she called out to him. "Hey, Malone." He wheeled around at her words, looking at her with a silent question. He was wearing black dress trousers, a white dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up and a navy tie. His silver bracelet glimmered in the faint light. A wave of affection shot through her and spilled into her tenor. "Thank you."

"Sure," he responded softly, echoing his own reply from months ago, when he'd thanked her for her help and understanding with his self-recriminations and tumultous feelings in the aftermath of the shooting. He strode to the door, unlocked it and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

His scent lingered in the air around the sofa. She leant back, breathed deep and closed her eyes, sending him another thank-you, this time without words.

* * *

Sam was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The day had been brutal. Too many memories, too many regrets. Spending every possible minute with Chloe had been the only thing that had gotten her through the day. Maybe next year she'd follow Bailey's advice and just stay home.

She'd talk all this through with Melinda during her next session. During the quiet that preceded her falling asleep, she'd been sorting further her feelings and thoughts concerning Wykoff. In a way, she'd been checking back with herself, trying to verify her previous conclusions. In that regard, she was now satisfied that she knew herself.

But, she was feeling restless. The sensation had followed her for a while now, and she'd believed it to be because today, Tom's death, loomed ever closer. She checked the digital alarm clock on her bedside table. It was already past midnight.

Bailey's presence during _that time _had been a godsend. She'd been feeling lonely until he knocked on her door. Leaving early to spend the remaining afternoon with Chloe had been a good decision. The day had been better than she'd anticipated it to be.

Why, then, was she still uneasy? Why was she feeling like this?

Like... she were suspended in air.

Missing something terribly.

Hoping, desperately waiting for it to come along.

The scary thing was, she had no idea what she was waiting for.


	8. Heaven and Earth Never Need Know

**HEAVEN AND EARTH NEVER NEED KNOW**

The next morning, Sam was the first to join Bailey at the command center's big table for a briefing on the Tuscaloosa killings. He was sitting at the head of the table, bent over and writing something. She looked at her coffee cup, taking care not to let it spill, then chided herself for not bringing him a cup. She walked over to him, silently, hoping to catch him unawares. She peeked her head over his shoulder, but to her disappointment, Bailey was just signing his name on some warrant petitions.

"Hey, Sam," he greeted her without having to face her. One corner of her mouth quirked up. How had he known it was her?

"Hey, Malone," she said cheerfully and sat down on the chair closest to him.

He shot her a brief look. "Why were you spying on me?"

Damn, he didn't miss anything. "Just good old-fashioned curiosity. You never know, I might catch you sketching a poem or something more untoward," she flashed a grin.

"More untoward?" He looked amused.

"You know, like a limerick." He couldn't decide if she was being serious or not. She took a sip of her drink, and her expression looked pained. She placed the cup on the table.

"Mm. I think I burnt the top of my mouth," she confessed. He offered her his water bottle without words. She poured some cold water into her coffee.

"Thanks." She stifled a yawn.

"Uh huh." He took note of her yawn, and seeing as they were alone for the time being, he decided to seize the moment. He'd wanted to call her last night, but hadn't wanted to intrude on any time Sam might have been spending with Chloe. He needed to know how the rest of her day had been. "Bad night?"

"In a way. The evening was fine, but I just couldn't fall asleep," she sighed. She'd still been up at two am.

"How did Chloe fare yesterday?"

"Well, all things considered. I took her to the grave on Sunday, so..."

He nodded at her. She looked to the double doors and sat up straight in her chair. He deduced that the others were arriving. Sure enough, he heard approaching footsteps.

As soon as George, Marcus and John were seated around the table, Bailey started the briefing.

"All right, let's get going. Thanks to Sam's profile of the Deak killer, we've learnt of three other murders by the same man. Sam, you want to walk us through the profile while George pulls up the files?"

"Sure. He's 34 to 48 years old, blue collar worker, socially dysfunctional and withdrawn among his peers. He finds it easier to converse with other age groups, people that do not belong to the cohort group that bullied and neglected him. That's why the Tuscaloosa killer is younger than he is, 26 to 38 years old. Now, Marie Deak was 31 years old, and I've identified three other victims. George, can you pull up Susannah Olding?"

"Coming up."

"Olding was a bank teller who lived in Rochester, Minnesota. She was 33 years old and lived alone. She was the first victim. The murderer fumbled his entrance to the house by breaking the living room glass door and a chase ensued inside. He was much better prepared for his subsequent kills," Sam remarked.

"He then killed Deak. The third victim was Hal Gruen, in Eugene, Oregon. He was an insurance salesman. Luanne Billings is the last known victim. She was from Rochester, like Olding."

"Deak lived in Owatonna. That makes it three different cities. Why is that, since all the other killer's victims lived in Tuscaloosa?" John puzzled.

"The Tuscaloosa victims are tied to Deak's killer. The accomplice is killing people known by the killer. Let's call Deak's killer the Minnesota man, or something, this can get confusing. Anyhow, the Minnesota man is lower class, and so are his acquaintances. It makes sense that they wouldn't have the resources or the opportunities to move away. The Tuscaloosa killer, to whom Olding, Deak and co are related to, is upwardly mobile, in a way. He hails from a middle class background."

"So we need to cross reference the victims with the profiles and revisit the victims' social circles?" Marcus asked to be sure.

"Yes, let's go through every case again, this time armed with the right profile of the killer," Bailey concluded.

The team went through the new victims in greater detail before dispersing.

* * *

Agent Wes Renick glanced at his wrist watch and furrowed his brow. It wast almost six o'clock, and the personnel secretary of the 20th district hadn't returned his call yet. He would have to call the man first thing the next morning.

He was about to pack up for the day when he spied Zach Dixon, the officer in charge of the city's internal crime database, scurrying towards his office. Something was amiss.

"Agent Renick, you got a sec?" Dixon sounded agitated, and so Renick nodded his compliance. "We have a situation. Come with me." Dixon's information was obviously sensitive. Renick let Dixon lead him to the IT department premises, situated on the fourteenth floor.

"Someone's breached the system," Dixon began as soon as they reached the fourteenth floor. Renick stopped in his tracks. The idea that someone had breached the database shared by the local police department and the Bureau was troubling, to say the least.

Dixon didn't slow down. Instead, he headed straight to a large table where two coworkers of his were sitting, visibly shaken and working furiously. "They got through a glitch in the password verification process and had a look around."

"Look around where? What did the intruder do?"

"No serious damage, as far as we can tell. They nosied around the criminal records, citations, outstanding warrants."

"When did it happen?" Renick needed to know all the pertinent information asap.

"A week ago, for the first time."

"The first time?" Renick repeated.

"They've invaded the system three times, all told."

"To what gain?"

Dixon looked discomfited. "We don't know. Nothing's missing. My guess is that we're dealing with a hacker who's trying to prove his worth to his friends."

"Have you plugged the leak? Will the intruder be able to hack his way in again?" Dixon looked to one of the men, who took over. The man's name sign said Hollington.

"We've instituted new protection and upped the firewalls. The verification glitch correction is underway," Hollington assured the agent in charge.

"How soon will it be ready?"

"Tomorrow," the second man piped up. His name was Melburn.

Renick nodded his head. "Good. Are you sure about the extent of the damage?"

"90 per cent sure. We will run a full systems check once we're secure again."

"Keep me informed."

* * *

Bailey knocked on Sam's door and poked his head into her office. "Hey. Got a sec?"

"Sure. Shoot, boss man," Sam joked, but her merry spirit got a wrench thrown in its way by her friend's serious expression. She waited in silence as the man seated himself in front of her.

"I just heard from Peter Koslowsky. You've been cleared for another interview with Lesher. Next week's Thursday."

"So why do you look so miserable?"

"He wanted to give me a heads-up. They've started the paper work on Lesher's transfer to Fort Leavenworth."

Sam leaned back in her chair, stunned. "Shit. When?"

Bailey felt her disappointment. "He said that the paperwork will take a month or so to be processed," Bailey sighed.

"Will he help us get more access to her while she's in our back yard?"

"He said he'll try, but he can't guarantee anything."

"All of this would be so much easier if we didn't have to clear every visit with the US attorney's office," Sam muttered and threw her pen on the desk, frustrated beyond measure. She stared vacantly at her desk for a while.

Then, her features grew determined. She knew what she'd have to do. "I'll just have to persuade her this time." Her gaze was clear and resolute.

"Is she susceptible to persuading?"

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "I'll make her susceptible. I don't intend to fail. Too much is at stake."

Bailey gave her a little nod. He hoped to God that Lesher would cave and wouldn't share anything horrifying about Coop's death.

There was one thing he could help Sam with. He would leave a message to Casper tonight, asking for the elusive agent to get back to him. They needed to set Wykoff's protection in motion.

* * *

Sam settled deeper into the chair, relieved that she and Melinda had already discussed Wykoff.

"So, anything new going on?"

"No, not really. Well, there is something Angel would probably bring up," Sam muttered.

"But not you?" Sam shook her head, and so Melinda continued: "What is it?"

"It concerns Bailey." Sam took a beat to clear her voice. "There's been a slight change in my frienship with him." She paused, trying to sort out her thoughts. "We kissed. As in, _kissed._ A month or so ago."

"I see." Melinda's pleasant silence invited more elaboration from Sam.

"We talked it over, and we agreed that it had to happen one time or another."

"Why do you think it happened then?"

"I guess we've been spending a lot of time together. We've gotten closer, as friends," she added for classification. "We were away on a ftx weekend, and I practically spent the entire day with him, from early morning well into the next day."

"But I'm assuming that there were other coworkers with you, and yet you only kissed him," Melinda pointed out.

"I'm closer to Bail than to anyone else," Sam retorted quickly.

"Okay." Melinda allowed for a small lull in the discussion, giving Sam time to pacify herself. "You keep saying that you two are close. How exactly would you describe your feelings for Bailey?"

Sam let out a chuckle. "I answered that same question to Angel some time ago. I thought about it then, and I concluded that we're close friends, but strictly platonic."

"Was this before the ftx weekend?"

"Yes, it was," Sam mumbled.

"Did the events of the weekend cause you to re-evaluate your feelings?"

"No, not really. Like I already said, the kissing was a one-time thing."

"Okay. Why do you think Angel asked you to qualify your relationship with Bailey?"

"I have no idea. Yes, I have been spending more time with him as of late, but you know, I've been close to him since Quantico."

"It seems to me that you're being a bit defensive. Does it bother you to be asked to characterize your and Bailey's relationship?"

"Look, however it may look to other people, only Bail and I know what we are and what we aren't," Sam snapped.

Melinda's eyebrows arched. "Like that, Sam." The blonde blew out a breath. "Sam, I'm not attacking you, as you very well know. I would recommend that you think about where your defensiveness stems from."

Sam inclined her head, signalling her agreement to give the matter some thought.

"Anything else on your mind?"

"Well... I have this feeling of... like I'm suspended in motion, waiting for something to come along, you know? Like something isn't where it's supposed to be."

"How long have you felt like this?"

"A few weeks." Sam worried her lip. "But I have no idea what that something is."

"Does it feel like something that'll get clear at some point?"

"I don't know. I've never really felt like this before."

"Does it trouble you?"

"A little. I don't like this... the unknownness of it all. That's from a poem I read." Sam bit back her words about reading the poem in a book she'd borrowed from Bailey. It seemed like every topic she'd conversed about concerned the man, one way or the other.

Melinda'a eyes wandered to the clock on her desk. "Our time's up, unfortunately. Do you want to schedule another appointment?"

"Better not. You know how my job is. I'll call you."

"Take care."

"You too. Bye." The women hugged warmly, and Melinda saw Sam to the door.

After Sam's exit, Melinda sat down behind her desk and made a few additional notes into the notebook. _Confessed to unspecified feelings for BM, defensive. _

Melinda sighed, wondering a little at her friend's blindness.

* * *

A few nights after Sam's session with Melinda, the fire station residence got a late visitor. Angel smiled to herself when she opened the elevator door and ushered Bailey inside. "Hi Bailey. How are you?"

"Hello Angel, I'm good. How about you?" he asked courteously.

"I'm fine. I'm wrapping up a movie with Chloe. Sam just went into the dark room. Hey Sam! You've got a visitor!" Angel all but yelled to her friend.

Chloe ran from the sofa to greet her favorite uncle. "Hi, Uncle Bailey."

"Hello, pumpkin," he lifted her into his arms. "Enjoying your summer vacation?"

"Uh huh. I went to the zoo three times in Richmond!"

"Three times, you say? You must have seen every animal in the zoo."

Chloe nodded eagerly. "I did! I saw joeys and goslings, too."

Sam sauntered up to them. "Hey! I was just about to develop some photos."

"Oh. Maybe I should come back another night," Bailey suggested.

"Nah, I'll only take thirty minutes. You're more than welcome to join in, if you don't mind being cooped up with me."

Sam's innocent suggestion garnered a meaningful look from Angel. Sam averted her gaze quickly, not deigning to acknowledge her friend's behaviour.

"I don't mind. You have a good time with the end of the movie," Bailey wished Chloe and set her down. He was oblivious to Angel's knowing smile, of which Sam caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye before leading him to the dark room.

Once inside, Sam dimmed the light and turned to Bailey. "Can you lock the door? Chloe's burst in a few times while I've been developing photos," she explained. "Thanks," she said when she heard the click of the lock.

She turned to her task, and Bailey stood by, watching his friend.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Sam prodded after a while. Bailey hadn't peeped after he'd locked the door.

"I talked to Casper." Her head whipped to look at him. "He sends his regards."

A smile blossomed on her face. "His regards? He is a nice throwback to the good old days. So are you, in fact. But I digress. What did he say?"

"That he'll get back to us in a couple of weeks."

Sam was more relieved than she'd care to admit to. "Good. Did you tell him about Elliot's... special requirements?"

"Yes. He assured me that it wouldn't be a problem." Sam nodded and started prepping the developing liquid, handling it expertly. He watched on in silence for a moment.

Then, he had to ask. "Have you always taken photos?"

"Pretty much. They're a nice way to remember happier days." She paused for a beat before remarking: "After my mother died and my father disappeared on me, photos were the only things that reminded me of them."

Only once had she mentioned her mother to him. After Angel was safe and sound on the night of her kidnapping. She'd been ten when her mother passed. Such a young age to lose a parent. After that revelation, he'd understood how much Tom's death must have shattered Sam. The last thing Sam would have wanted was to have her own daughter experience such a devastating loss.

"How did your mother die?" he asked gently, unsure if he was crossing some line. She looked at him, but he didn't see any guardedness in her gaze. Just a little sorrow.

"It was an accident. She was driving home when an elderly driver on the opposite lane had a seizure and crashed his car into my mother's," she said, her voice getting a bit choked up.

"I'm sorry," he placed his left hand between her shoulder blades, comforting her. She gave him a fleeting, warm glance at his gesture. Her sudden movement made her ponytail loosen a little.

They fell into a comfortable silence. Then, she rallied her spirits and dove into a topic that she'd wondered about now and again. "You tell me something now. You're Irish-Italian. One would expect for you to have at least six siblings I'd know about. And yet, you've never mentioned anyone to me," she stated, eyeing him curiously.

"The answer is simple. I don't have any siblings. My mother had complications when she gave birth to me. She wasn't able to have more children."

Sam's face fell. "Oh. I'm sorry about asking."

"Don't be. I was close with my cousins. We spent our childhood together, thick as thieves. Over the years, some have died, and with others, we just drifted apart."

That brought him full circle, once again to Wykoff. Now was the perfect time to tell her.

"Actually, Wykoff's insights concern my family. My cousins." Sam dropped all else and turned to him, her expression rapt. She'd been dying to hear this.

He looked her squarely in the eyes and began his tale. "When I was young, like seven or so, my cousins and me would sometimes be left into the care of our grandpa from my father's side. Occasionally, he would get drunk and smack us around. Just the older kids, and boys, at that. We didn't tell anyone 'cos the bastard knew how to convince that we were somehow to blame. But this one time, when he wasn't even drunk, my five-year-old cousin, Siobhan, dropped a glass and it broke. And I could tell from the expression on his face that he was going to lay into her. I stepped in front of her, just in time, and got a concussion for my troubles. My mother took me to the hospital and I told her everything. She told my father and my Italian grandpa, who put the fear of God into the bastard. Since then, us kids spent our time at the restaurant."

Sam felt a swell of affection for him. He'd always been a protector. She leaned in and kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

"What was that for?"

Sam shrugged and flashed him an unknowable smile, opting to not say anything.

More tendrils had escaped her ponytail. It was about to come wholly undone. She tried to keep her hair in check by tilting her head and brushing the escapees against her shoulder. He took matters into his own hands. He reached out and pulled the band out of her hair altogether. She stilled, surprised by his intimate action. He gathered her locks together, marveling at their silky volume, and looped them through the band a few times, then pulled at the hair gently to secure the ponytail.

He was in the perfect position to look at her many earrings. He'd often wondered why she had so many of them. Did she just like them, or had they perhaps been an act of youthful rebellion? His hand inched up to play gently with the earrings on her right earlobe.

Sam was growing more and more puzzled by his seeming flights of fancy. He was inspecting, almost caressing, her earlobe. "I got them at eighteen," she answered his unaired question. He nodded, even though she couldn't see his motion. He couldn't stop his hand from tracing the back of her neck, drifting across her shoulders like a cautious explorer. Her breath hitched and she tried to fight back her shudder, unsuccessfully.

The mood had changed from their easy camaraderie to something heavier, more tangible. Something repressed.

She felt him move closer, and she in turn leant into him, both powerless to halt whatever was transpiring between them. His right hand crept to rest in the curve of her waist, while his left hand continued to take in the softness of her skin, ghosting airily over her shoulders.

A sudden compulsion had him placing a kiss in the skin between her ear and her hairline. He sensed her startle a little, but she didn't step away. Instead, her eyes fluttered shut and her head lolled to the other side. His lips left her skin, but he kept close, breathing in the citrusy scent of her locks.

His left hand twined around the front of her waist, coming to meet his right hand. She pressed into his warmth and he breathed a kiss into her hair. Her right hand flew up to caress his face, and she adjusted her head to the right, so that his lips was less than an inch away from her temple.

"You want me to stop?" he mumbled against her temple.

"God no." She spun around in his embrace and ran her hands to clasp around his neck. His hands settled into the small of her back, where they always seemed to belong, to fit perfectly, separately or together.

Her whole being was tingling from his proximity. She could feel the heat and intensity of his gaze, and she met his eyes. The desire reflected in his smoldering gaze and his intoxicating presence proved too heady a combination. She claimed his lips, and the fuse was lit.

It all came back to him. What he'd tried to stomp out of his memory since Chicago. _Lord have mercy, she felt and tasted so good. _

She felt like her insides were singing again. She'd never get enough of this. _You never get too much of a wonderful thing. _This time, she ignored the implications of her random thought and lost herself, closing herself to everything but _feeling_.

Heaven knows how far they would have gone if they hadn't gotten a rude awakening. A loud crash impeded on their moment. Sam broke away, listened and breathed deeply, trying to figure out if what they'd heard had been real.

"Mommy!" They could hear Chloe's wail and her fast approaching footsteps.

"Chloe, honey, let me see," Angel pleaded on the outside. Sam flew to the door, unlocked it and stepped out of the dark room. Angel and Chloe were standing in front of the door to Angel's room. Angel was inspecting the back of Chloe's head, while the little girl was crying and hiccuping.

"What happened?" Sam ran to the pair and knelt down to comfort her daughter. Angel concluded her ginger examination.

"She fell back first from the edge of the sofa. She was sitting on it. There's no blood." Sam took a look herself and came to the same conclusion. Chloe would only get a nasty bump on her head. Just to be safe, Sam decided to call Doctor Varees once the girl calmed down.

"Shh, you're okay, Chlo. You just bumped your head, sweetie," Sam consoled her little girl and hugged her.

"I'm gonna get some woollen socks to press against the bump," Angel offered and disappeared into her room.

Chloe was still crying, nearing hysteric hiccups.

"Hush, baby girl. You'll be fine," Sam murmured.

Then, she noticed out of the corner of her eye a cuddly toy horse entering her field of vision. She looked up at the same time as Chloe, watching Bailey who knelt down and offered the toy to the girl. "Mr Mustard came to take care of you," he explained. He'd gone into Chloe's room and retrieved the same toy with which Chloe had comforted him after he'd been shot.

Chloe grabbed the toy and began to breathe easier, hiccuping less. She reached out for her uncle, and Sam let her walk into his soothing embrace. He stroked her hair and murmured softly to her.

Angel brought the woollen socks and handed them over to Bailey, who placed them carefully against the girl's head. Sam and Angel looked on as he pacified the banged-up girl. Even Denzel had come along to see what the commotion was all about. Sam's throat felt tight as she observed the pair.

Chloe's crying died down before long. She dried her tears and sniffed, still remaining in the sphere of Bailey's comforting embrace.

Sam's head popped up when she heard a quiet giggle. Chloe's misery had morphed into subdued delight. Bailey whispered something to the girl and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Chloe stepped away from him, petted Denzel fleetingly and padded over to her mother, whom she hugged. "I'm better now," Chloe croaked, her voice still raw from her hysterics.

"That's good, honey. I knew you would be."

Angel reached for the socks she'd retrieved, and Bailey gave them up. "Come on, Chlo, let's go lie down. Mommy needs to call doctor Varees." Chloe grabbed Angel's hand and let the woman guide her to her room.

Bailey stood up and looked on as the pair retreated from him and Sam. Then, he glanced at Sam, who was still sitting on the floor.

"You okay?"

Sam's eyes snapped to him. She bestowed him a grateful smile. "Yes. Thank you. You were wonderful with her."

"Don't mention it." He offered her his hands and she stood up with his help.

Now that the crisis had been resolved, they let go off each other's hands quickly and exchanged unsure glances. They were both mulling over what had again transpired between them. The thing they'd believed to have gotten out of their systems.

Chloe's mishap had come at an opportune time. It afforded them some time to think. They couldn't get into it for the moment.

Bailey looked discomfited, then uttered, sounding almost regretful: "I think I'd better get going. I'll go and say bye to Chloe."

Sam nodded without words and watched him enter Chloe's room. She heard him teasing: "Where is that little banged-up girl? I've come to give her tickling therapy!"

She smiled at his joke, but then she grew somber. It had happened again. It shouldn't have happened. Yet, it had been bound to happen. Her mind was occupied by a messy jumble of stray thoughts, self-recriminations, thrilling memories. She feared that this meant she'd have to take a closer look at herself. Again.

She abandoned her feverish thinking when Bailey emerged from the room. He walked to her, and they were hesitant in their goodbyes.

"Talk to you later?" was all he said, but she understood.

"Yeah, of course." She escorted him to the elevator in silence.

"Night, Sam," he wished her as he stood in the elevator.

She responded to him in a quiet voice. "Night, Bailey." She gave him an uncertain look before shifting her gaze to the floor and closing the inner door. She listened to the sounds of the elevator descending to the floor below. She blew out a prolonged breath.

They'd made a mess again. And this time around, neither of them had the luxury of time to get over their preoccupation.

* * *

Unlike Sam, Bailey had kept his eyes trained on his friend until she had closed the door. He wondered if he was a glutton for punishment. Hell, he was one for rebukes directed at himself. The past month had made that quite clear.

Bailey jabbed the ground floor button and glared at it, as if it had caused their joint error of judgment.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, cursing at himself. Damn it. What had possessed them to do that again? Sober, no less? At least the last time, they could blame it on lowered inhibitions, brought on by alcohol. No such luck this time around. He was sober as a judge.

He stepped out of the elevator and walked, at a brisk pace, through the large garage hall that Angel used as her studio.

This was getting to be a problem. Whatever the hell this thing, this pull between them, was. But what could they do about it? They worked together, and they were best friends. They couldn't avoid seeing each other, and they couldn't even avoid being alone, just the two of them. The demands of the job made sure of that.

And, just the idea of avoiding Sam sent a pang through his innards. He loved her too much. As a friend, his mind jumped to amend his thinking.

He entered the warm, stifling air of the evening and took a few steps to reach his car. Once inside, he took a moment before putting the key in the ignition. He stared ahead, his mind dull. He glanced up at the windows of the kitchen, half hoping, half dreading, to see Sam looking down at him. Nobody was at the window. Sam must be tending to Chloe and calling the doctor.

This pull between them wasn't getting to be a problem – it already was one. And her life as well as his was complicated enough. They would have to find a solution, and fast.

* * *

Sam flicked off the lights in her bedroom and left Chloe to her slumber. On doctor Varees' recommendation, the girl would sleep beside her mom, so they could make sure she hadn't suffered a concussion from her tumble. Sam drew the door shut quietly and ambled to the kitchen.

Angel was brewing herself a cup of tea at the kitchen table. "She asleep?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'll wake her up when I go to sleep."

"Poor little girl," Angel sighed.

"How did it happen? I just want to know."

Angel grimaced. "I was engrossed in my book and wasn't really paying attention. She was sitting on the back of the sofa. I don't know how she could fall that badly."

"I don't blame you. Chlo's old enough to know better," Sam reassured her guilt-ridden friend.

Angel gave her a grateful look, clearly appreciating the sentiment. Then, she hid a smile, considering her roommate. "Did you get the photos developed? I hope they aren't ruined."

"Nah, I'd only gotten around to putting out the liquids. Didn't get any further than that," Sam replied without thinking, playing right into Angel's hands.

A playful gleam ignited in Angel's eyes. "Oh, really? Even though you were in there for a good twenty minutes?" Angel enjoyed the brief look of panic on Sam's face before the blonde recovered her cool.

"Bailey was filling me in on the situation with Wykoff," Sam fired back, trying to keep a level tone of voice. She saw her escape route and grasped at it. "Speaking of, I'd better go and get rid of the liquids. There's no saving them now."

"Uh huh." Sam heard Angel's unconvinced response while she fled from her prying questions.

Sam hastened through the play area to the privacy of the dark room. Once she was out of Angel's line of vision, she took a deep breath and ran her hands in her hair, gathering her thoughts. What a night this was turning out to be. She pushed aside the memories of what had happened resolutely, figuring she wasn't in the right state of mind to consider them.

She decided to go through the roll film, to remind herself of what she'd been about to develop. Maybe she would be inspired to make the contact sheet, at the very least.

She grabbed the roll of film that she'd left to dry. She cut the film in strips, which she placed on a clean surface. She turned on the light box, took her magnifier and bent down to inspect the negatives. The first one was of Bailey. _Of course it was. _He was wearing his apron. She flew over the photos of him, not having the strength to look at his pictures with a discerning eye. Better to keep moving, keep busy.

She smiled at photos of their girls' night in and Chloe's ballet recital, then frowned upon seeing photos of Angel's Cherry tree sculpture. She must have neglected to develop this batch of film. She wondered why Angel hadn't mentioned her oversight, making up her mind to ask the artist if she still needed them. She continued inspecting the negatives.

Her heart skipped a beat when she came upon a close-up of Bailey. Damn, she'd completely forgotten about this photo. She felt the sudden urge to shake her hands, but she resisted. She forced her breathing to even out and focused on the negative again, willing her heart to return to a steady rhythm.

_We're wonderful one times one._

That was the stanza he'd recited when she'd snapped the photo. She hadn't really remembered what he'd looked like. His expression was...

She bolted up, forcing a stop to that particular train of thought before it was too late.

She sighed. It was like every single aspect of her life involved him, too. He, his presence, surrounded her at all times.

Her thoughts shifted to the incident from an hour ago, in this very room.

They really needed to put a stop to _that_.

But how?


	9. Little Punks

**(Be forewarned: Though I don't go into details, this chapter implies animal abuse. Please skip if this bothers you. Thanks to my beta reader, demonchilde!)**

**LITTLE PUNKS**

_September 24, 1963_

"Yeah, you'd better run!"

"We own this town!"

"Beat it, dog-faced boy!"

The taunts echoed in the forest, not drowned out by the stomping of Jerry's feet and his ragged breathing.

"Doggy Jerry!" Bert Wilkins shouted out in derision. Jerry heard a gaggle of laughter from the boys pursuing him.

Jerry knew the forest by heart. He was near Campbell Mansions, his family's estate. The bullies wouldn't dare to follow him for much longer.

Just a little further, he rallied his spirits. If there had been only one or two boys following him, he would have turned around and taken his chances. Maybe risked a beating to land a couple of blows on the bullies. But there were five boys. Two classmates, three boys that were one year older. He'd learned the hard way that there was strength in numbers.

Sprinting along the path, he could hear the pursuers starting to trail back, losing their mean-spirited interest. He didn't slow down until he was a hundred feet away from the edge of the forest. Then, he looked back and saw the boys giving up the chase and turning around, starting the long way back to the road where they'd been waiting for him.

Little punks, Jerry cursed in his mind and kicked a loose rock twenty feet ahead on the path. Someday someone would bring them down. He drew comfort from that thought.

He continued on his way, not really keen on arriving home, even after the moments of terror he'd just experienced. So he took his time, and slowed down his walk when the imposing back facade of the mansion started to loom between the trees of the thick forest.

Jerry arrived at the edge of the woods and stepped behind a fir tree, remaining in the shadows. He looked across the vast back yard and observed the large windows. At the right of the mansion were his father's offices. Virgil Campbell had taken to working from home as the end of his wife Gertrude's pregnancy neared.

Jerry spied movement in the main office. The curtains fluttered, and the tall and bulky build of his father could be seen in between the curtains. His father was on the lookout for him. He hugged the tree closer in the shadows of the branches, wanting to go undetected. Virgil watched the expanse for a moment, and then he was gone.

The bullies had, without intending to, bought him some time to wander in the woods by himself. He waited a while, just to be safe. Then, sensing that the coast was clear, he withdrew into the gloomy forest and headed to his left.

Jerry glanced at the second floor window in the left corner of the mansion. His mother, Gertrude Campbell, was probably sleeping, confined to her bedroom on bedrest. The doctor had seen her multiple times during the pregnancy. Jerry didn't know what had caused his mother to be bedridden for weeks. He knew better than to ask. He'd already had that invaluable life lesson ingrained in his skin.

He waded deeper into the forest, spurred on by a faint sound. A muted wail emanated from straight ahead. He wanted to see what it was. He had to walk only fifteen yards before he stumbled upon the creature.

A baby squirrel was gently whimpering at the foot of a fir tree. It had fallen off the nest up the tree. It wasn't a newborn, but it wasn't a kit that could climb up the tree to safety without help, either.

Jerry approached the tree and knelt down beside the kit slowly. He watched it for a long time. It was so small and helpless. If the mother didn't get there soon, a snake or maybe ants would find the kit and end its short life.

After a while, he grew bored. He would have to head home soon. He picked up his school bag and froze when he noticed a stain of resin on his sleeve. He rubbed at it furiously, hoping to make it fade away. He only succeeded in making the stain larger. He would pay for his messiness.

He shot an annoyed glance at the kit. What a pitiful little creature.

* * *

_Present day_

Jerry kicked the cage that housed a small dog that was barking at him. "Shut the hell up!" he barked back.

He had no patience for animals, but for the time being, they were a necessity. So he went to dog pounds around the city and rescued dogs that were a day from the gas chamber. The pathetic people who ran the pounds would almost snivel with gratitude at the thought of someone coming in and saving their precious strays. Little did they know that the mutts were only getting a stay of execution.

He decided to feed the annoying mongrel last. He walked over to the whining labrador, scooted down and pushed the food into the cage. Then, he feeded the other two canines, finally reaching the French bulldog. "Lap it up," he gritted and kicked the cage again for good measure. Then, he reached his arm chair and lit up a cigarrette. He had to keep an eye on the curs, to judge the effect of the drug.

Jerry let his mind wander for a while. As always, thoughts of Sam flooded his brain. The hurt of the Chicago episode had lessened by a smidge. He'd come up with several satisfying plans of how to dispose of Malone, when the time arrived. Alas, first he had to silence Sharon for good. Then, maybe, he could have his way with the male agent.

He would have to do it in a way that would push Sam more towards him. That required some thought. He'd misfired twice on this very same score. Tom's death hadn't affected Sam in the way Jerry had intended. She'd resigned, causing him to seriously re-evaluate his plan. After Cooper's death, Sam had stayed in the investigation, but he now wondered if it had pushed her to become more... enmeshed with Malone. If true, that would be most distasteful.

He snapped to when the French bulldog started barking again. Damn mongrel.

* * *

_September 24, 1963_

"Jerome!" Virgil's demanding voice boomed through the home office door. Jerry drooped his head, resigning to his fate. It wouldn't do to try to pretend he hadn't heard his father's call or that he hadn't sullied his school uniform. "Be a man," Virgil would often say, disappointment ringing in his tone.

Jerry entered the vast office and made a beeline to the comfortable leather chair tucked into the corner by the windows. He was only surmising that the chair was comfortable; not once had he actually sut in it. In doing so, he would be assuming more of himself that he ought to, and his punishment would be severe. Virgil had long since instilled in Jerry an understanding of his place in the Campbell household.

His father was tapping his fountain pen on a folder, and he cast a cold, measuring look at him. "What did you learn at school today?" Virgil kept a close eye on his son's education, believing that school was a place for education and advancement. He placed no importance on social circles, sports or the arts, declaring those subjects to be inconsequential to the future leader of Campbell Industries, the family business he'd fortified by his marriage to Gertrude Pabe.

Jerry rattled off all the facts he could remember. The bullies had disturbed his recollection of useful lessons that he usually engaged in on his way home. Luckily, what he told seemed to appease his father.

"Very good. What is this?" Virgil pointed to the specks of resin on the sleeve.

"I fell down on the path through the woods. I'm sorry." Jerry never told his father of the abuse his classmates heaped on him. He knew that Virgil Campbell would not be sympathetic to the plight of his son.

"Mm. Keep your eyes on the path in front of you. Don't amuse yourself with gazing at woodland creatures. In order to get anywhere in life, you need to be aware of the path there. Do you understand?"

Jerry nodded silently.

"No dessert for you tonight. That will be your punishment. Now, go greet your mother, and then do your homework."

Virgil was reading the documents on his lap even before Jerry could say his goodbyes. "Yes, father," Jerry uttered in a clear voice, knowing that his father hated it when he mumbled anything.

He walked swiftly out of the office, passed through the spacious hall and lobby to the grand staircase. He ran up the stairs and took a right turn, heading to the bedroom where his mother was bedridden.

His father and his mother scared Jerry for very different reasons. Virgil was cruel, that was undeniable, but Jerry had already learnt how to not incur his father's wrath. Gertrude, on the other hand, was unpredictable, off in her own private world. Sometimes figuring out the degree of her lucidity was an impossible task.

He arrived at the door to his mother's bedroom and shuffled his feet, fighting the urge to bolt to his own room down the hall. But he knew better. He knocked on the door, waiting. A languid "Enter" reached his ears, and he opened the door carefully, peeking inside before walking in.

His mother Gertrude was lying on the big bed, a fluffy blanket keeping her warm. The room was dim, the air stuffy. Obediently, Jerry strode silently to the side of the bed to greet his mother.

"Good day, mother."

"Jerome," his mother greeted in return. Both of his parents called him Jerome. He himself preferred Jerry.

"Fetch me my reading glasses. They're on the vanity," she pointed to the vanity desk not five feet from the foot of the bed. Jerry did her bidding.

"Much better," she sighed while she put her glasses on.

Then, she spared another glance at her son. "Good heavens, your hair! How can it be so unruly? Just like your Uncle Leopold." Jerry stroked his hair, trying to make himself more presentable. As he kept his head down, he noticed that the book sitting on her mother's lap was upside down.

He looked up again, hopeful that he'd made some improvement. His mother pursed her lips together, but didn't utter a word.

"Well, I shall return to my reading. I will see you after dinner," she dismissed her son. She picked up the book and resumed reading, taking her time to realise her mistake.

Jerry shuffled out of the bedroom and headed into the relative safety of his own room. He would have a two-hour respite before his Bible lesson.

* * *

_Present day_

Jerry eyed the curs with mild interest. No sign of any of them dropping dead, yet. Maybe he'd got the dosage right on his second try. That would be promising. It would save him some time. After he was sure of his dosage, he would get to work on gaining access to Sharon. He would have to dig up information on the attorney who'd served as her public defenders back in Aurora, Illinois. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage. If not, then he'd have to dummy up an identity.

At least the Chicago citation was now all taken care of. Except the retired cop. That was a loose end that was bothersome. But, he had to risk it.

He lit up another cigarette, took a drag and then blew out the smoke. It looked like the mongrels would live to see another day. He could adjust the dosage a bit more.

Later on, he would drive to the office building once more, and go through the footage. He hoped it'd be another week without Malone dropping by. That would be encouraging.

He grabbed a photo of Sam he'd snapped outside the home of the district attorney's daughter. His Sam was so beautiful.

He forgave her for her trangression.


	10. Impossible Dream

(My thanks to demonchilde!)

**IMPOSSIBLE DREAM**

"Hey, Dad! You weren't at Sam's for long," Frances remarked, as he entered the house through the door to the side garage.

It was a small miracle Bailey had made home safe and sound. It had taken an enormous effort on his part to stay alert on the busy roads. One driver had even honked at him when the traffic light had changed to green and he hadn't noticed.

He'd had other things on his mind. He took a bottle of water from the fridge.

"I only needed to tell her one thing. And, Chloe had a bit of an accident, so Sam needed to tend to her."

Frances glanced up from her social studies book, concern etched on her face. "What kind of an accident? Is she okay?"

"She's okay. She fell back first from the edge of the sofa. She was just a little banged-up, that 's all." He drank greedily from the bottle.

Frances looked relieved at his reassurance, but she continued: "Maybe could I call them? Just to be sure?"

"Go ahead, sweetheart, if that's what you want to do." Frances' concern touched him. He loved that Frances had become an older sister of sorts to Chloe. He watched on as Frances reached for the cordless phone and pressed the speed dial button and two. She must have programmed the phone without telling him.

Frances' voice became drowned out when she greeted Sam on the other end of the line. Speaking of his friend... He sought solace in his room.

His mind worked fervently. A solution. This thing had to resolved, one way or another. They couldn't keep making out whenever the hell the mood struck them, nor could they begin to tread on eggshells around one another.

He paused for a while, to puzzle over what he'd dismissed as an impossible solution. Maybe they should just... see how far this pull would take them? It could be that acting out on their attraction might make it go away. Sometimes, you only want what you can't have. Right? So possibly a one night stand... No. He wasn't like that, and she wasn't like that. He hadn't engaged in casual sex, and he suspected that she hadn't, either.

That solution was out of the picture, then.

Perhaps they should get involved with other people. That might steer their friendship to its normal, solid ground. They'd have someone else to spend time with, to focus on. He tried to muster up any enthusiasm for the idea of putting himself out there, again. He failed, miserably. He had to be honest: his last tries at relationships hadn't panned out great. Ellen, Barbara... Who'd been there before that? It was before Sam had come out of retirement. Jennifer. What a mistake that had turned out to be. He'd once said to Sam that his track record since Janet wasn't great, and he hadn't been downplaying it.

He also wanted to focus on Frannie. Enjoy their time together before she left for college. That occasion was drawing ever closer. This was another thing he'd said to Sam before.

There was also a fleeting feeling that he chose to ignore. A feeling of raw agitation. His stomach turned when he tried to envision meeting some guy Sam was seeing. He wasn't up to dealing with his reaction, so he decided to give it its due some other time.

"Dad?" Frannie appeared at the doorway, disrupting his thinking. "Chloe's fine. The doctor just suggested that she be woken up a few times during the night to make sure she doesn't have a concussion."

He nodded, then sighed out loud: "Good."

"You want to watch a movie together?"

"Don't you have to study?"

"I'm finished for the night," Frances remarked proudly. She was finding social studies a bit of a bore, and so any accomplishment in that regard was to be celebrated.

"Movie sounds like a good idea." Bailey smiled as his daughter clapped her hands together and scurried to the tv to see what movies of his she hadn't seen yet. Bailey sent a silent thanks that he would have something else to focus on for a while. He wasn't any closer to a solution, and quite frankly, he needed a break.

* * *

Sam's night was one of fitful sleep. Then again, it was bound to be with her having to wake up Chloe to make sure her daughter was okay. But, she imagined that she wouldn't have gotten sleep, regardless of Chloe's accident. The kissing would have intruded on her slumber no matter what.

She'd pushed the issue to the background for the remainder of the evening. She had things and tasks to occupy herself with, and so she was able to pretend that her evening had been normal. She'd emptied and filled the dishwasher, had prepared Chloe's lunch, had changed Denzel's water every twenty minutes and had even cleaned the fridge.

Angel had taken pity on her friend, and so she didn't ask what had brought about this need of Sam's to keep busy. She'd come up with a pretty good guess early on.

But when Sam looked herself in the bathroom mirror as she was brushing her teeth, she got a first inkling of her upcoming night. She looked into her own eyes, and out of nowhere, felt Bailey's lips press into the spot between her hairline and ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin. The memory, the feel of it, was vivid. He might as well have been standing behind her and repeated the act. She shuddered and closed her left hand forcefully, willing herself to stay in the present.

But the memories bombarded her relentlessly. She could sense his hands in her hair when she tied her locks into a ponytail. She could feel his fingertips ghosting along her shoulder when she released her hair and the ends brushed her skin. She could have sworn his hands were still twined around her waist when she pulled her shirt over her head. As she did so, she thought she could smell his scent on her shirt. She lifted the garment to her nose, and inhaled. Faint scents of cigars, Old spice and soap. Bailey.

"Damn it." She threw the shirt into the washing basket, then glared at it.

She almost wished they had liquor in the house, since the burning sensation of the stuff hitting her throat could perhaps snap her out of her wandering thoughts.

She ambled to her bed and snuck in carefully, lest she disturb Chloe's sleep. She would need to be woken up in a few hours. The little girl was breathing evenly and sleeping on her side. Sam watched her baby girl for a moment. She was curled up with Mr Mustard. In fact, she'd hardly let go of her toy since Bailey had comforted her with it.

At the thought of her friend, she turned to lie on her back and stare at the ceiling.

What would she do about Bailey?

Or maybe the question was: what would _they_ do? In a way, Bailey had started the kissing this time around. Oh wait, she'd kissed him before that. On the side of his mouth, granted, but she had to acknowledge that. Damn, she needed to get a hold of herself.

He'd asked her why she'd given him that innocent kiss. She hadn't answered because she hadn't known the answer. It wasn't something that could be put into words so easily. She'd just felt this... swell of affection towards him. She suspected that she couldn't have refrained from kissing him, even if she'd tried.

She'd often wondered how he'd become the man he was, and she believed she'd glimpsed the beginnings of it in his story. She was sure there were many more things that had shaped him. Good, bad and ugly things. He was a very layered man.

She loved that he'd shared that with her. That he'd wanted to share it.

But she was digressing. What would they do now? What could they do?

Brush it off? Swear again that it had been a one-time thing?

Try to talk it out?

She tossed and turned most of the night, trying to come up with a viable course of action.

It was a bad night.

* * *

Bailey heard a gentle rap on his office door. He looked up to see Sam standing there. She shifted on her feet and asked in a soft voice: "This a bad time?"

It was just getting to eight am, so no, it wasn't a bad time. As it was an unusually early time for her to be at work, he surmised that she wanted to have a talk before the task force would be buzzing with activity.

"No, come on in," he sighed a little and gestured for her to proceed. She closed the door behind her for privacy.

Sam saw Bailey tug at his dress shirt, and that little gesture let her know that he was as nervous as she was.

"How's Chloe?" He started off with a safe question, to ease them into the conversation they were about to have. He looked at her for a moment, then averted his gaze.

"I woke her up four times during the night. She's fine, apart from the bump on her head." Her gaze drifted to the few agents milling outside.

"That's a relief." They shared a tiny smile, looking at one another, and then Sam broke the contact and gulped. She eyed the outside warily, as if afraid that someone might intrude upon their moment.

Just as she cleared her throat, he beat her to the punch. "You want to talk about last night?"

She took a sharp intake of breath and nodded.

He started things off. "I don't know what got into me. I'm sorry."

For some reason, his apology aggravated her. "Don't apologise. I'm not sorry," she blurted out. When he shifted his eyes at her, she looked taken aback by her words. She bit her lip and rattled off: "I mean, I'm not sorry, but I'm not happy, either." She looked stunned by her own admission. "Does that make sense?" She hazarded a look at him, needing to see what he might be thinking.

His expression was plaintive. "It does. What a mess, huh?" he sighed. He hated this. This awkwardness.

She shook her head, in disbelief. "You can say that again. Given this mess we're in..." her voice trailed off, prompting him to observe her for a beat. "Are you okay with us just sucking it up and trying to move past this?" She gave him a fleeting gaze before explaining: "I don't see how talking about it could solve this mess."

"So just give it time?" He sounded a little unsure.

"Yes," she bit her lower lip, unconscious of her action.

The truth was, he hadn't come up with a brilliant plan of his own, although he'd missed a lot of sleep last night in search of one. Maybe Sam was onto something. She was the shrink, right?

"Okay," he said soberly.

She gave a tiny nod. "Okay." She shifted on her feet again. She hadn't sut down at all. She took a step toward the door. "Talk to you in a while."

"Yeah." He watched her retreating form, but averted his gaze once she'd cleared the door.

Neither of them felt relieved by their conversation. They both sensed that this was by no means the way out of their predicament.

* * *

Later on, Bailey knocked on Sam's door, hating the carefulness, the uncertainty, that once again permeated their relationship.

"Yeah?" He entered at Sam's beckoning, to find her stationed on the sofa, engrossed in a psychology manual. She'd placed a coffee mug on the arm rest of the couch. Just as he debated internally whether or not the arm rest was the safest place to keep a mug, she proved him right. She glanced up to look at him, and her right hand flew to her neck (he wondered if she'd hit the spot where he'd kissed her last night, and God, he really needed to get that out of his head), in the process knocking over the mug to the ground. The coffee splashed all over.

"Shit!" she cursed, shooting up to inspect the damage.

Bailey stepped closer and drawled: "Well, that was a tragedy no one could have foreseen."

She shot him a wondering look before she caught on and mirth overtook her. Sam's body shook in her fit of laughter, and Bailey watched her for a while when she collapsed to sit on the sofa. She looked so free and contented. And beautiful. _Get a grip, Malone._ He snapped out of his musings and walked to her desk to retrieve the box of tissue paper. He sauntered to the sofa, knelt down and began wiping off the spilt coffee.

"Bail, you don't need to do that," Sam said, starting to sober up at the sight of her boss, her best friend, doing something for her, being so thoughtful, like it was second nature to him.

He just shook his head. "There, already mopped up. You're lucky the coffee missed the carpet."

"Don't I know it," she muttered, trying to dispel her flustered feelings. "Thanks," she said as he stood up and looked at her, fighting to appear normal. He was taciturn for a beat, and she felt the need to take control, to be alert. Not be lulled into a false sense of... Security? No, indulgence. So, she spoke up. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

"Yeah. Women's prison warden called. We can go interrogate Lesher at three pm on Thursday."

"Okay. Good to know."

There was a lull in the conversation. Both of them were at a loss for words or conversation topics. Finally, Bailey made his exit. "Better get back to work."

"Yeah, right," she offered him a feeble smile before picking up her case file again. Little did he know that as he walked out of her office, she was in fact watching him, feeling worried and a little forlorn.

* * *

On the second day after the kissing, Sam knew that she needed a distraction at work if she were to remain a rational, socially functioning person. She'd caught herself gazing too many times either at Bailey's office or at the man himself, if he happened to be in her line of vision.

Actually, she'd just caught herself taking a look around the premises for her friend. Thand goodness her office provided her with some modicum of restraint and protection.

She blew out a breath and observed John and Marcus discussing something at their desks. Marcus stood up all of a sudden and headed in the direction of the command center. His sudden movement had a domino effect on the files on his desk. They collapsed onto John's side, who looked chagrined as he arranged them into a neat pile and pushed them to a secure place on Marcus's side with a precise shove.

A little smile formed on Sam's lips. Serendipity had afforded her with a method of payback against John and Marcus for the fun they'd made of her months ago. She would mess with them a little. Nothing too serious, but it'd be enough to rile them up.

Her eyes happened upon her trophy. That would make the perfect game piece to start her little fun.

Bailey would appreciate her plan.

Damn it.

She had to get him out of her head.

* * *

The next day, Bailey was standing in the observation room of the women's penitentiary, looking in on Sam's interrogation of Lesher. The female inmate was getting pissed off at Sam's line of questioning.

"Again with the same questions. All you ever do is talk about Jack. Did you ever think that I might be more willing to talk about something else? Like someone else? Hm?" Lesher's sinister smile betrayed who she was referring to.

Bailey froze in apprehension, feeling Sam's dread ratchet up, even though he was in another room, watching everything unfold. Why wasn't he in there with her? Maybe he could have prevented this, or perhaps he might have lessened the blow to her by his mere presence.

Sam held her breath, fearing the worst. Lesher smiled crookedly, then opened her mouth as if to say something, but suddenly she thought the better of it and remained silent.

Sam snapped out of her dread, realizing that the woman had just seen that she couldn't risk implicating herself in the death of a federal agent. Sam had the upper hand, and she went in for the kill. "What, no follow-up to that? Nothing horrific to throw in my face?" Lesher's mouth twitched, but she didn't rise to the bait.

Sam filled the silence. "You have been careful not to implicate yourself in anything. You're good at this game. Too bad it won't do you any good."

"And why's that?" Lesher enquired, looking unimpressed.

"Because this is Jack's game. Jack is going to kill you, and the sooner, the better for him."

Lesher snorted derisively.

Sam kept her voice level. "You still don't think he's going to kill you?"

"Nope." The blonde inmate grinned confidently.

"Then you're even more misguided than I believed. When the game is over and he realizes that nothing on this earth will make me his, he will kill _me_."

Bailey clenched his fists, Sam's words eliciting a reaction like a physical blow would. He almost felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

Lesher's confidence faltered for a moment. "That's what you think."

"I don't think it, I know it. It's my job to know," Sam pointed out. "The game is all he has, and what exactly is the game? It's him controlling how it ends. There's only one ending he is willing to accept. Anything else, and he'd rather see me dead and buried." Sam let that knowledge sink in before continuing.

"And, he's already tried to kill me. When we found his previous hide-out at an orphanage, he pumped the room full of acid. We had a very narrow escape."

Sam watched the younger woman digest this shocking news. Then, she pressed on.

"So, you tell me this. What makes you think he won't kill you, when he's ready to kill the woman he's been chasing and fantasizing about for six years? What kind of a chance do _you_ stand?"

Lesher looked shaken for a moment. Then, her temper flared. "Guard! We're done here," Lesher spat out with hostility and glared at Sam as she waited for the guard to approach her. The prisoner and the guard left the room in silence.

In the observation room, Bailey untightened his fists, pushed the door open with force and strode into the interrogation room.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded harshly.

"What?" She turned around to face him, surprised by the tenor of his voice.

"You shouldn't have said those things," he uttered passionately. His features had a dark look about them. "About Jack killing you," he bit out.

Sam stared at him, startled and puzzled by his fervour. "Bailey, what's going on? What I told Lesher isn't news to you."

"Sam." An unspoken warning rang in his tone.

Her bemusement grew stronger. "You've known it all along, ever since Jack started fixating on me. Come on." Her rational words hung in the silence that spanned between them. She looked on as he heard what she was saying, took a breath and started to accept it.

"We will catch him. One way or another. Okay?" His features relaxed and he nodded silently.

"Sorry," he mumbled and looked away.

Sam considered her friend, wondering silently what had brought on this intense reaction in him. In a few weeks, it would be a year since the shooting and her kidnapping. Maybe that was weighing on his mind. She would have to keep a close eye on him. Out of friendly concern, of course.

"You alright?" she asked gently.

He blew out a soft breath. "Yeah." He remembered the reason they were there. "What do you think Lesher's feeling now?"

She shook her head, frustrated. "She's bewildered and angry. After she's had time to accept what I told her, she's probably going to get a lawyer. Start looking out for herself for a change."

"The question is, will it do us any good?"

"I don't know."

* * *

Agent Renick cursed under his breath as he strode out of the elevator into the fourteenth floor premises. Dixon had called him again and had sounded a little shaken as he asked for his presence. Renick caught glimpse of the man. "Dixon, what the hell's going on?"

Dixon looked away from the computer screen, his expression drawn and shifty. "I'm sorry to say it, but shit's hit the fan."

"What do you mean?" Renick deigned to ask curtly of Dixon and his two coworkers.

"We've been hit again," Melburn gulped visibly, fearing the wrath of the federal agent.

"Someone breached the database again? How is that possible?"

"The system wasn't breached again. The previous intruder left a Trojan horse inside, a time bomb, if you will. It went off today," Hollington explained.

"And?" Renick was fast approaching the end of his patience.

"It deleted a good portion of citations and outstanding warrants. We've been set back four months, at the very least," Dixon remarked.

"Why in God's name would anyone do that?"

"Beats us," Dixon shrugged his shoulders. He and his coworkers weren't police or FBI. It wasn't on them to figure out the motives of criminals.

"Do you have any leads on this?" The liaison agent asked tersely.

"Honestly, this type of hacking is above our skill set," Hollington said apologetically.

Renick sighed. "Fine. Who would be a match for this hacker?"

The three men looked at each other. It was clear to the agent that they'd discussed someone already. "Who is it? Time's a-wasting."

"George Fraley. I think he's working for the Bureau in Atlanta. He hacked his way into dozens of highly secure bank systems, then copped an immunity deal with the local pd," Dixon finished weakly, not sure of how his proposal would land now that it included a hacker who'd been caught.

"Fraley? Is he regular Bureau or VCTF?" Renick asked.

"We don't know," Melburn piped up.

"I may have an in with Fraley," Renick mused, remembering the visit by SAC Malone and Agent Waters. If Fraley was VCTF, he'd be in luck.

"I'll be in touch. And for Christ's sakes, earn your paychecks and keep hackers out from now on," he barked to the men.

* * *

Sam was waiting in Bailey's office. She wanted to go over Lesher's interrogation with him again. He was nowhere to be seen. She yawned, the stress of the day finally catching up to her. She settled herself on the sofa, lying on her back and her feet curled up, resting on one side. She drifted off.

_Some time later, she was awoken by Bail, who'd touched her legs. She blinked, then smiled a sleepy grin at him."Come on, time to go home, Sam."_

_She shook her head playfully and closed her eyes again. She smiled to herself when she felt the edge of the sofa tip down. He'd sut down in the nook of her folded legs and her torso. "Sam?" She didn't respond, and he sighed resignedly. "Well, good night, then," he remarked. She could feel the weight lifting off the sofa cushions as he made to rise up, so she opened her eyes. _

"_Gimme a sec, will you?" she yawned and stretched her figure to awaken herself, straigthening her legs and bringing them to rest on the arm rest of the sofa. As she stretched, the silky material of her purple blouse slid up, exposing the smooth surface of her stomach. Which Bail most definitely noticed. He sat still, his eyes frozen on the exposed plane of skin. _

_His left hand moved to caress the skin on her side with his knuckles, ever so gently. She gasped and his eyes flew to his face, checking to see if the touch had been unwanted. She knew that her face mirrored his own apprehension and desire. He must have felt her relax, for he rested his right elbow on the back of the sofa, leaning his head against his right hand and effectively pinning her down, even though he wasn't even touching her. _

_Those hands of his. She wished that he'd touch her again. She got her wish. _

_Bail locked his eyes with hers and started teasing her, ghosting his fingertips over her skin, drawing lazy circles, fleeting touches on her side and stomach. His gaze heated up when he slipped his fingertips underneath the gathered-up fabric of her blouse, exploring new territory, carefully and slowly inching up the material. _

_She felt him run his fingers up and down her side, as if testing if she was ticklish. She opened her eyes that had fluttered shut at one point or another. She was seeing him in a haze, but her vision cleared when she felt him pinch her skin in between her side and her belly button. She shot him a glare, and he smiled in a pacifying manner and bent down to gently kiss the pinched skin. She barely held in her gasp. _

_Her gasp was audible when, after a few soft kisses, she felt his lips part in the kiss and his tongue came out to taste her skin. _

Sam let out a small yelp when she shot up on the sofa. Her hand flew to her stomach and she tried to make sense of the situation. Bailey was hovering over her, standing beside the sofa. Oh God, had she just dreamt _that_ in his presence? Had she made any sounds? Had he already guessed that he'd been the male lead in her fantasy?

"You okay?" He looked concerned.

"Uh... Yeah. Just forgot where I was for a moment," she explained, actually managing to both lie and tell the truth. She ran her fingers through her hair and quickly stood up. She had to get out of here.

"Did you need something?"

"Huh?" She really wasn't up to conversing anything.

He repeated his question, and she mumbled: "It can wait. I've gotta go." She could hear him calling her name, but she ignored it and blew out of there like a bat out of hell.

She had to make a quick exit, and therefore she opted to take the stairs. With any luck, she could catch her breath, come to her senses, in the stairwell.

She bolted a few levels up before she deemed it safe to pause for a moment.

What the hell was going on with her? Why had she dreamt _that_?

The recollection made her blush fiercely, and she started running up the stairs again.

* * *

Bailey gaped at Sam's back as she disappeared into the staircase. What the heck? Why had run she run out on him like he was chopped liver?

Did she feel uneasy to be alone with him because of the way he'd blown up at her at the prison?

No, she'd forgiven him right then and there.

She'd been napping on his sofa when he walked in. Had he startled her when he'd touched her side in an attempt to wake her up? She had bolted straight up. Had even yelped a little. Maybe he had startled her.

Or maybe she'd had a nightmare, one she didn't want to discuss.

Hell, the harder he looked for an answer, the more the answer evaded him.

* * *

That night, in the privacy of her own room, Sam owned up to something. Like Melinda had pointed out in their last session, she was defensive when it came to Bailey. And, she now knew why. Because she didn't know what she and Bail were nowadays. What they had been for quite some time. Not anymore. She was defensive, because she didn't know and she didn't want anyone to realize that she didn't know.

To top off her confusion, the feeling of missing something hadn't abated, either. It would consume her out of blue, catch her off guard. She tried to shake it off, but the feeling would return mercilessly.

She hoped to God that she would soon find out what she was waiting for.


	11. This Is Not What I'm Like

(Thanks to demonchilde for her help. Oh, I recently enabled guest reviews, so if you want to review any story of mine, you can do without signing up to be a member. On with the story"! ~ FV)

**THIS IS NOT WHAT I'M LIKE**

"Frances, breakfast's getting cold!" Bailey yelled out to his daughter, who was holed up in her room.

"Be there in a sec, two pages to go!" Frances would have her final social studies exam today. After that, she'd be done with high school. They would have to wait for a month or so to hear if the Macon college would accept her. If all went well, she would start college in later in the fall.

Bailey shook his head, sipped his coffee and checked his suitcase absent-mindedly. He was planning on making dinner for him and Frances in the evening, to celebrate her accomplishment. Linguini soup, her favorite.

Frances emerged from her room, with her heavy social studies book in hand. When she reached the kitchen, she snapped the book closed. "Okay. How much time have I got?" She'd asked her dad to drive her to school. She'd spend her spare time revising in the library.

"Is twenty minutes okay?"

"Sure. Thanks, dad," she said as she sat down and started wolfing down her grilled cheese. She caught his amused look. "What? I'm hungry."

"I didn't say anything," he played innocent.

* * *

Bailey was having trouble concentrating on work. He checked the time, wondering when Sam would get in. She'd be late soon, and she hadn't called him to let him know. He froze when he realized that he'd put on his purple tie. For some curious reason, that fact unsettled him a little. He hadn't worn it much since...

He noticed a flurry of motion outside his office door. Sam had been about to enter, but Washington had engaged her for some reason or another. He took a few steps towards the door before his progress was halted by a call. He turned on his heels and took the call.

"VCTF, Special Agent Malone."

"Agent Malone, it's Agent Wes Renick from Chicago. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."

Bailey's spirits lifted up. Maybe there was hope on the horizon with Henegar. "No. Any news on Henegar?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid. I'm calling on another unrelated matter."

"How can I help?"

"The Bureau field office and the local police department share an intranet, an online, secret database of criminal records. The system's been compromised quite seriously these past few weeks. Someone hacked their way in and deleted a significant amount of data."

"I see."

"Our IT guys say that the expert in these matters is an employee of yours. George Fraley. I was wondering if I could prevail upon you and him for him to help us out. Only for a day or two. I'd just like to get his opinion on how to safeguard our system from future attacks."

"How soon would you need his expertise?"

"Frankly, the sooner, the better. I appreciate anything you could arrange."

"I'll get back to you by the end of the day."

"Thank you. Goodbye."

Bailey hung up and turned to face the door, only to find an empty space. Sam was somewhere else by now.

He was unaware that while Sam had been talking to Washington just outside his office, her eyes were drawn to his back every so often for the briefest of looks before commanding her senses again.

* * *

Later on in the day, Bailey, Sam and George were convened at the upper table of the command center. The computer whiz was set to divulge his latest findings concerning Jack's aliases.

"So, I have run through DMV and Georgia's criminal records, especially around the times when Jack was on the run."

Sam took in George's regretful expression. "And you came up with bupkis." At his nod, she leant her head against the chair and closed her eyes.

"Doesn't mean he hasn't made a mistake somewhere, sometime. We just haven't found it yet," Bailey tried to rally their spirits.

"Or he had time to cover it up," Sam pointed out with a glum expression.

Bailey stayed silent for a moment, thinking. "Maybe we should spread the net again. Look into neighboring states."

"No, don't bother. We can't find anything because he's too damn good," Sam muttered and stormed away.

"Sam!" She didn't pause when she heard Bailey call her name. He almost lept out of his chair and followed her, but refrained from doing so at the last minute. He told himself that she needed some time to fume alone. After that, she'd be fine.

George was playing with the ring on his thumb. "What should I do?"

"Look into it, if you could. Jack isn't infallible, although he'd love for us to think so." Bailey took a moment to push his thoughts of Sam to the side. Then, he remembered Renick's phone call.

"Georgie, I got a call from an agent in Chicago. Apparently, their computer network was hacked into and severely compromised. They wondered if they could get your input on their safety measures."

"I'd have to stay in Chicago? How long for?"

"One or two days, as soon as we can spare you."

"Oh. I'll let you know tomorrow."

"Thanks. Good work on the alias thing."

Bailey strode out of the command center, his feet taking him towards Sam's office instead of his own. He paused at the door, wondering briefly if Sam had fumed enough. Only one way to find out.

Just as he stepped forward, Sam emerged from her office. They nearly collided with one another.

"Sorry," she mumbled, giving him a quick look before focusing on something behind him.

"It's fine. You okay?"

She rubbed her forehead and made a face. "Yeah. Sorry about being short with you guys. I didn't mean it."

He looked at her under his brows. "I know."

"Is George going to work on it?" Her eyes were fixed on the resident computer expert.

"He will." He looked at her, a question in his eyes, and he opened his mouth as if to say something but held back. He touched her upper arm in a fleeting caress before turning on his heels and walking away. He didn't notice her freezing at his intimate gesture.

She'd been hyper alert ever since the dream, and being so close to Bail only made her more so. She could barely bring herself to look at him in the face, for fear of her own reaction. She stared at his back and chewed on her lip. She could still feel his hand brushing her skin. She shuddered and retreated into the safety of her office.

In the relative quiet of her fire station home, she'd decided to just forget about the dream, like it never happened. It had to be a one-time deal, right?

Her certainty had started to crumble as soon as she was faced with Bailey.

She ran her hands through her hair, flopped down onto the sofa and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. She needed to get a grip. And fast. Like yesterday.

* * *

"Good morning, Bailey," George greeted and walked through the open door to his boss' office.

"Morning, Georgie." Bailey wasn't surprised to encounter him this early in the task force. George put in long hours, and yet, he was always at work bright and early.

"I don't mind a trip up to Chicago. Would the weekend be okay for them?"

"I'm sure they'll say yes. Thanks."

"Catch you later, boss." George breezed through the open area to his work station next to Grace's lab.

Bailey had been left to his own devices for two minutes when his cell phone rang. "Malone."

"It's me." Bailey recognized Casper's voice.

"Good to hear from you."

"It's nice to be appreciated. I believe I've found your... caretaker."

"When can we meet him?"

"Her. We'll be in town next week. I'll call you with the time and place." Bailey didn't bother with suggesting anything on his own. Casper, with his infinite sources, always knew when he had a moment to spare.

"Okay. Thanks."

The day was looking up, now that he knew Casper had found them to protect Wykoff. He and Sam should visit the man and inform him of the latest developments.

Bailey surveyed the main floor of the task force with a glance, and frowned when he saw Sam standing beside John and Marcus' desk. Why hadn't she come in to say hi? His frown deepened when he witnessed her positioning her trophy to stand on both desks. The action had been casual, but deliberate.

He cursed inside when his desk phone rang. It looked like he wouldn't have a moment to breathe today.

* * *

Two days later, Sam strode out of her office in a hurry. She and Bailey would meet Wykoff in thirty minutes. But when she spotted John and Marcus' desks unoccupied, she made a little detour. She casually arranged some files to a neat pile on Marcus' side before heading to the exit. Bailey had stepped out of his office, and when she made eye contact with him, he turned to walk to the elevator.

When she reached him there, she saw him observing her curiously. "What was that?" he asked, not making a big deal out of it.

She played oblivious. "What do you mean?"

"Sam."

His look didn't waver at her attempt to mislead him. "Ah. I guess the jig is up." He smiled at her turn of phrase and she was distracted for a second. That was his 'This ought to be good' grin, and when the hell had she started labelling his smiles, anyway? "Uh... Well, I'm just having a little fun," she remarked with a shrug of her shoulders.

He pondered her words for a moment. "Payback?"

"Yes." She couldn't resist glancing at him to see his reaction.

Uh oh. His 'I'm enjoying the heck out of this' smile. "Okay. Carry on."

She averted her eyes, lest she blush or worse. Like fling herself around his neck and...

_Damn._ She looked to the floor and let her hair hide the faint crimson shade of her face.

_Deep breaths, Sam. Deep breaths._

* * *

Elliot took a step back and evaluated the canvas before him. He was adding to his collection of paintings. Thankfully Doctor Simons had seen the value of him being allowed to paint whenever he wanted to. She believed it would help his recovery, and he concurred.

His first paintings had been similar to the ones hanging in his and Diane's home. Disturbing visions of men falling into the abyss. As he'd gained mental strength and had become able to deal with the loss of his wife, he'd shifted his focus. He'd begun painting her.

There was a knock on the door. He put down his easel and brush, and opened the door. He smiled at the woman and man standing side by side and gestured them in. "Please. Very nice to see you again."

Sam offered him a real smile. "You, too. Were you painting?" she asked as she stepped in. Bailey followed her at a foot's space.

"Yes, I was inspired." He shuffled to place the painting into the corner, out of the way. He then pointed at the chairs around the table, inviting his guests to sit down. They complied, Sam sitting next to the window and Bailey next to her.

"We came to discuss your accommodation whilst you help us, Elliot," Bailey revealed.

"We assume that you're well enough to be on your own now," Sam continued.

"Yes. My agoraphobia hasn't diminished, but I can always order food and other essentials to my house."

"What about your palliative treatment? Who will be in charge of that?" Sam enquired.

Elliot's expression darkened a little. He wasn't looking forward to allowing someone he didn't know enter his life. "I haven't figured that out yet."

The two agents exchanged a look, and then Sam spoke. "I hope you won't think us high-handed, but we have been thinking of how to keep you safe. We realized that we need someone who's... equipped to deal with your unique circumstances."

"And have you found someone?"

"We have. Are you open to someone looking after you?" Bailey looked closely at him.

"You'll meet her of course, and if you say it's off, it's off," Sam hastened to add.

He considered their suggestion. He knew that he would need someone to protect him, and he trusted the agents, in spite of the brevity of his acquaintance with them.

"I would like to meet her." The agents looked relieved and shared a smile.

"We'll set it up for next week," Bailey concluded the topic.

He contemplated the pair in front of him with a fond, wistful expression. The way they were so attuned to one another... They reminded him of his love for Diane and her love for him.

The three of them chatted briefly, but before long, ran out of topics. Elliot didn't mind; he had never been one for chit chat. His gift had him living inside his head, most of the time. Only Diane had ever been able to draw him out.

The agents said their goodbyes, and started walking out, Sam leading the way. She was out of the door when Elliot was gripped by a sudden impulse to follow up on his previous insight of Bailey.

"Do you know now?" His hushed question surprised the male agent.

Bailey turned around to look at him. "Know what?" Bailey's reply wasn't hushed, and Sam stopped in her tracks, wondering what was going on.

The man didn't know yet. Elliot shook his head, glancing at Sam before focusing on the man again. "You must learn it on your own time."

* * *

_Bailey was on the phone with the regional deputy director. It was getting late, and his office was only lit by his desk lamp. He heard Sam clear her throat, then say: "Malone?" The peculiar ring in her voice made him swivel his chair to face her. He nearly dropped the receiver. _

_The first thing he noticed were her legs. Legs that were a mile long and oh so bare and lean. A small gasp almost escaped from his lips at the sight. Then, his eyes traveled up, taking in a dark sweater that hit Sam just right: it just about covered her upper thighs. He recognised her garment. She was wearing his Bureau sweater. He forced his gaze upward, meeting her eyes which were sparkling with mirth and mischief. _

_She was standing eight feet from him. "Is this a bad time?" she whispered, looking innocent. At his silent "ya think?" reply, she smiled gleefully. "Good," she said under her breath. She started shimmying around the table, to him. She stopped when she was standing right in front of him. He could have touched her lean legs without reaching. He used up all his will power to refrain from doing so. _

_She pouted a little, then cleared some space on his desk and sat down on the edge, allowing her legs to dangle playfully for a moment. She crossed her left leg over her right one, then ran her hands over her legs a few times, keeping a close eye on his reactions. "Like what you see?" she purred. He attempted to shoot her down with a stern look. She paid no heed to his worsening predicament. _

_She uncrossed her legs and lifted her left foot to rest on the back desk, her knee slightly bent. He made a non-committal reply to something the deputy director had asked, too busy with drinking in the smoothness of her legs, the graceful line of her calf. Seeing that she had him captivated, she rested her left arm on her knee, leant on it and looked at him intently. A little devious smile appeared on her face. He had barely time to register her expression before he knew what had brought it about. _

_She wiggled her right leg inside his left pant and ran it up, biting her lip and finally finding his bare skin. Her toes felt like ice on his hot skin, but then again, he felt like he was burning up everywhere, so he probably wasn't up to discerning his current body temperature with any accuracy. _

_She teased him for a while, then must have decided that the little contact wasn't enough. He felt disappointed when she withdrew her toes. He grunted something as a reply on the line. She stood up, then placed her hands on the arm rests of his chair, leaning in a bit. She flashed an incorrigible grin, then placed her weight onto her hands and climbed into the chair, to sit on his thighs with her legs apart and impossibly folded. _

_He shot her a silent warning, which she brushed off with a flirty look. She placed her left hand on his shoulder and started tracing his face, neck, hair, ear with her right hand, gauging his reactions. _

_Well, intimidation hadn't made any impact, so he had to resort to pleading. His look of silent plea didn't go unnoticed, but she didn't back off. She gave him a surprisingly tender smile before placing a kiss on the side of his mouth. "Better?" she breathed out. He'd nodded before he realised it himself. Then, her eyes took on a predatory gleam. He knew he was in serious trouble. _

_She leant in to whisper something in his ear. He'd stopped listening to his boss a long time ago. He sensed her lips close to his ear and suppressed a shudder. He strained his mental faculties to cut out the deafening roar of his blood, and focused on understanding her words. _

"_Touch me."_

_He promptly dropped the handset. _

Bailey startled in his chair, a small thump snapping him to. He blinked, looking around for any sign of Sam. His dimly-lit office was empty. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. None of _that_ had actually happened. He felt turned on, irrationally disappointed and a little bereft. Then, he chided himself for fantasizing about his best friend. What would she think if she ever heard about this?

He groaned, rubbed his face with his hands and then bent down to pick up the phone receiver, which he'd dropped in the midst of his dream. He listened to the call. That's right, he'd been waiting for someone from his insurance company to pick up. He hung up, deciding to leave the mundane task to another day.

The best thing to do would be to forget about the dream instantly, and to be more guarded in the future. He wondered how much he could control what he dreamt about, then resolved that he had to make the effort. So, he'd put the dream and any like thoughts out of his mind. For good.

He did allow himself to reflect on one thing.

His dream had been right. He was in serious trouble.

* * *

Frances had pointed out after dinner that Bailey was unusually distant. He'd brushed it off, claiming that he was preoccupied with a work thing. In truth, his thoughts were consumed by Sam.

Spurred on by his realization earlier on in the evening, Bailey decided that enough was enough. He couldn't ignore his confusion about Sam any longer. His feelings had been heightened lately. Certainly when those feelings concerned Sam. He had to confront them.

He'd never been able to relate to Sam with a mild and polite disinterest. There was something about her that drew you in and then tethered you there. That was the case with him, anyway.

His emotions had ratcheted up considerably lately, if the display at the prison was anything to go by. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to take a step back, to view the matter dispassionately. Something inside him wouldn't yield that far.

That night in Chicago had skirted at the edges of his consciousness for a while now. There was something there. Something that he'd brushed aside then, hadn't paused to consider. He had just acknowledged something, had accepted it as the truth. The truth of his heart.

Now, faced with worry about his escalating feelings that were evidently out of control for his friend, he reminisced, searched back. Ran through his interactions with Sam on that day, hoping to find the answer.

Nothing from the flight stood out. The same with the work shops and the lunch. All of them seemed innocent enough. When he reached the dinner, his mind started to slow down. He pondered his dealings with her carefully.

Nothing from the restaurant seemed troublesome. So it could only be the end of the night. In front of the hotel. The kissing.

Then, it hit him.

His response.

"_You know you love it, Malone."_

"_Yeah."_

_That_ had been his response.

_Damn._

Then, another stray thought seized him. The stanza he'd tried to recite on that Sunday. He felt chilled and rushed to the book shelf in the living room. He grabbed cummings' collection and flipped through the pages feverishly, until he happened upon the poem in question.

The poem was one that Sam had marked, but that fact quite escaped his notice.

He skipped to the end, the blood in his veins began to rush, his beart beat echoing in his vacant mind.

His breath hitched. He stared at the words, his usually sharp mind suddenly dull.

_lady through whose profound and fragile lips_

_the sweet small clumsy feet of April came _

_into the ragged meadow of my soul._

He closed his eyes and twisted the paperback in his hands.

Well, that certainly shouted out the message loud and clear.

He was in love with his best friend. Probably had been for years.

_Aw, hell._

* * *

George stared at the floor of the Howard Teten federal building. He'd called Rich to let him know he'd arrived safely. He'd taken his luggage to his hotel, and then he'd headed to work. He intended to have a look at the hacker's handiwork as soon as he could. He didn't mind that he'd be burning the midnight oil. Sometimes, he was at his most productive in the wee hours of the night. A remnant of his days of both college and illicit hacking.

"Agent Fraley?"

George turned around to see a man approaching him with a pleasant smile on his face. "I'm Zach Dixon."

"Nice to meet you. It's mr Fraley, by the way. I'm not an agent."

"Oh. Well, it's very good of you to come. We surely appreciate it. This way," Dixon turned on his heels and

Having reached the fourteenth floor, the man led George to a work station. "Where do you want to start?"

"I'd like to analyze the malware first. That way, I have a better grasp of the hacker's skills."

"Okay, just let me pull up the files." Dixon punched in a few commands and then left George to it.

Ten minutes into his probing, he started to get an eerie feeling of dejá vu.

Ten minutes later, he withdrew to a corner, disregarding the surprised looks Dixon was sending his way. He started up his laptop, waited for it to boot up which seemed to take forever, and finally started opening folder upon folder.

Five minutes later, he was sure. He turned to Dixon and asked urgently: "I need a secure phone line. Can you fix me one?"

"Why?"

"I can't tell you." George's taciturn stare convinced Dixon.

"Now?"

"Now," was his resolute reply.

"I'll have to ask my on commanding officer on shift."

"You do that." George turned back to the computer screen and stared at it gravely. This could be either very good or very bad.

* * *

Bailey was en route to Sam's place. George's phone call had awakened both him and Frances. On his way out, he double checked that the security measures of his house were operating. He left his daughter to her sleep. He'd only been half asleep when George had called. Another restless night to join the previous ones.

He wondered how many sleepless nights constituted a case of insomnia. He was probably on the cusp, already.

And now he was on his way to meet the reason for his bout of sleeplessness. Sam. After his realization, he'd had a stiff drink to calm his nerves. Only Frances' presence had stopped him from chasing his unsettling thoughts away with liquor. He hadn't wanted to alarm her. So, he'd tried to present a normal front. He wasn't sure how he'd succeeded.

He turned onto her street. The traffic was quiet. Someone was walking their cat in the middle of the night. That sight had him doing a double take.

He parked in front of the fire station and strode into the house with his key. He dialled Sam's cell phone, praying that she'd left it on. The call connected, and he counted the rings before he heard her groggy voice. "Hello?"

"Sam, it's me." His voice seemed unnaturally loud in the silent, vast space. "Can you let me in from the elevator? I don't want to ring the bell."

Her response took a beat. "Uh, sure." She hung up and he stepped into the elevator box.

His heart was hammering in his chest. He took a calming breath.

The door flew open and Sam blinked, taking in his presence, as if she wasn't sure that his call had been real.

He realized that he'd begun to feel alive only after Sam had entered his life again. Like his fire had been doused for three years.

She was his spark, his light in the darkness.

And he was about to see it flicker once again.

She stepped towards him. "Bailey, what's wrong?" Her whisper betrayed her panic.

He only said one word.

"Jack."


	12. Life Ain't Pretty for a Dog-Faced Boy

(Thanks again to demonchilde! And apologies for delivering an update a week late.)

**LIFE AIN'T PRETTY FOR A DOG-FACED BOY**

"_Is that what you want? You want to be close to me? You want to be close to me, well, then, why don't take my hand, huh? Give me your hand. Give me your hand!" _

_Her words echoed in his head, and he felt floored, threatened by her challenge. His hands twitched and shot up, a sign of his inner battle. _

_Then, her big baby blues settled on him, as if she was seeing him through the fog. _

_He reached for her hand and yanked her towards him._

Jerry flicked the picture of Sam as a baby. Smiled at his latest twist for that all-too-real scenario.

Next time, he wouldn't be caught off-guard.

Next time, he would be ready.

He savoured the vivid fantasy for a moment, then decided to start up the computer. He walked to the window and gazed out into the empty streets. He was in for another night of footage viewing.

At least he'd have some peace and quiet. The mongrels were unbearably loud. Luckily, he was very close to figuring out the correct dose.

The computer beeped, and he walked to it to enter his username and password. He sat down and fiddled with his cigarettes.

He accessed the camera feed, and he was about to light a cigarette when the computer screen showed a car pulling up to and parking in front of the fire house. He sneered when he recognized Malone's form getting out of the vehicle. He glared at the agent for the brief seconds he was in view before disappearing inside.

Then, Jerry reached for his police scanner and started to listen in on the chatter. A 7/11 had been robbed. A b&e was suspected in Loring Heights. He was getting impatient as minutes passed and he didn't hear of any crime that would merit the task force's involvement.

Finally, he heard of a unit showing the district attorney around at a murder scene in Buckhead.

He left the recording on, and he grabbed his camera. He would drive over to Buckhead.

After all, he missed her.

* * *

_June 4, 1965_

Jerry was huddled in a corner of the hall. Something bad was happening. He watched the commotion, not making a peep. Any sound would earn him a severe whipping.

The doctor and the nurse disappeared into his mother's bedroom. Virgil had taken on them as caregivers to Gertude for the last two months of her pregnancy. His baby brother, Saul, was sickly, and so the medical professionals had stayed on the staff.

His father's enraged yells had alerted the entire household. Jerry had flown out of his room to stare at the closed door leading to his mother's bedroom. The younger butler had wasted no time in fetching the medical staff from their room on the lower floor.

By the time they ascended the stairs, the yells had died down and had been replaced with an eerie silence. Jerry could only imagine what his father had been doing to his mother before the outsiders arrived.

Time seemed to slow down in the dread-filled mansion. After what seemed like an eternity, Virgil exited the room with the two medical experts. The doctor said something about the effects of a sedative, then offered his condolences. Virgil didn't react, and he was left in peace. All the staff scurried out of his sight.

"I should never have let her keep the baby in her room," Virgil said under his breath, balling his fists. He punched the wall nexf to the door of the bedroom. Jerry couldn't help the little yelp that escaped him at the sight.

Virgil Campbell turned around and located the source of the sound. His face twisted, and Jerry recognised the emotion plastered on his father's face. Revulsion.

"And so, you're to be the sole heir to the Campbell fortune. What a joke," Virgil bit out cruelly.

* * *

_Present day_

Jerry took a few pictures of the action unfolding in front of the house for the sake of appearances. There weren't too many photographers around, only a handful of night owls. They all strained their camera above their heads, as the property was surrounded by a high brick wall. The police had cordoned off a significant length of the front of the wall, but there was some space of either side to walk up to the wall and snap photos above it.

Sam and Malone didn't linger at the crime scene needlessly. In fact, their abrupt departure placed him in a precarious position.

He was standing near a few photojournalists when Sam and Malone stepped onto the pavement and made their way to the car, which was parked in the direction where he was. They would walk right past him.

He realized that he could reach out to her and touch her, she would be _that close_.

He froze in his spot, but recovered just in time.

He dropped the camera lense shield to the ground on purpose and knelt down to pick it up, to prevent himself from doing something extremely rash and foolish.

Sam passed him at a mere three-foot distance.

He stayed crouched down, and watched out of the corner of his eye Sam and Malone walk to their car.

When they had driven off, he withdrew to the privacy of his car and allowed himself to relish the thrill of Sam's closeness.

Soon. That was the word that he now used to refer to his future with Sam. Not eventually, not even before long. But _soon_.

And oh, the promise it held.


End file.
